


Spread Our Codes to the Stars

by det395



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Angst, Confinement, Dystopia, Eventual Happy Ending, M/M, Mentions of racism/sexism/homophobia/transphobia, Mild Sexual Content, Oppression, Social Hierarchies, Trauma, anxiety/panic attacks, mentions of depression, physical violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-12
Updated: 2019-11-04
Packaged: 2020-10-15 00:15:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 39,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20609723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/det395/pseuds/det395
Summary: In a restrictive and oppressive political climate, Dan fights his way back to Phil for good.





	1. Overture i.

**Author's Note:**

> Written as part of @musephan2009‘s awesome fest to commemorate the anniversary of The Resistance, which completely fuelled me while writing this
> 
> I have tons and tons of thanks to @obsessivelymoody for keeping me assured and being a great beta while being busy in life!! imma wrap you into helping with the last 2 parts I hope you know <3
> 
> Please heed the tags on AO3 and message me for more detail about the themes involved and the severity. This story is realistic but not severe and is focused on hope rather than despair.

The queue moves along fast, and he drags his shoes along to purposefully elevate the scuffling noise in the room. The person behind him steps on his heel and he quickly shoots a glare back, instantly feeling guilty when he has to look down to a woman with a nervous face. He turns back and drops his head down, continuing to watch people walk by his right side. 

It’s habit to search for black hair now. His eyes dart back and forth through dark colours in the crowd, looking at sullen faces next.

He probably doesn’t have black hair anymore. His own curls began tickling his eyelashes and he’s cut them jaggedly with the dull kitchen scissors many times now. 

If Phil hasn’t done the same he just might be searching for a moppy lions mane fringe. It kills him that he has no idea what colour it might be.

It could be more gray than mousy when grown freely. Sometimes Phil makes him search his head and pull out any silver he finds, while Dan makes the same silver fox jokes.

He doesn’t realize he’s looking at the guard across the hall until a voice breaks through the white noise of walking feet.

“Head forward keep walking!”

He sees everyone around him flinch in succession and he does, too.

His eyes are trained at the brown hair in front of him, though his heart starts beating at missing his chance to see the workers walking by.

When he finally gets to the front he scrambles to pull his card out of his pocket and scans it. It reminds him completely of the Tube except there is no friendly beeping noise.

The metal detectors and security guards are a change, too. 

-  
  


He follows the orange arrows through the hall and is waved into the third room by a security guard counting up the employees.

He searches the table inside for his tablet,  _ 77645 _ on the sticker up top. He scrolls down the pages of invoices and grabs one box.

It would be more efficient to grab a handful but he’s never been an overachiever. 

He manages to find a spot on a table to unfold the box. He scans the first invoice.  _ Dark Grey Camisole 4332 M, Light Wash Denim 1243 S, Chestnut Belt 6780 S, 6 PK Cotton Underwear 3099 S _ . He holds the box on his hip with the tablet inside.

He mouths and whispers the numbers as he follows down, looking for his products. He finds the jeans and throws them in the box.

When he imagined the slave labour he would do in a dystopian society, he never imagined fucking sales. Let alone within Amazon, or so he assumes. 

Maybe he should have paid more attention to all those articles about Amazon’s abuse. He could at least find some like-minds since he can’t exactly talk to anyone here. It’s busy enough to squeeze by people but so much as a whisper will get you a knock. Dan’s not that brave, he’s not going to be an idiot and test his luck.

He’s thinking it just as he spots some red hair and releases a soft gasp.

His heart starts beating to a worrying speed and he wonders how Phil is doing with his own anxiety when Dan is feeling like this so often. He pushes that thought away.

It might not even be her, just a girl with similar hair and height in that oversized orange suit. He shuffles closer, scanning over shelves and shelves of ripped boxes, mouthing the numbers like he usually does. Once he’s close enough, he takes the risk at glancing at her face.

Cornelia immediately snaps her eyes up at the sense of eye contact and he watches her face recognize.

Dan could scream in delight. He could cry. He never imagined seeing a familiar face to be so fulfillingly comforting.

Her lips show the ghost of a smile and she disappears behind him. He makes an effort not to move his head too fast, but thankfully she’s right on the other side of him angling her head in as if to read a label.

Her eyes stay focused but her lips move,  _ “dining hall”,  _ and then she walks on.

_ Finally,  _ Dan thinks.

-

Hair like that is easy to find. She sits by the line where it’s a bit more noisy with chefs calling out food. It’s kind of genius, guards will have more trouble hearing.

This is his favourite time, just to listen to the mumbled conversations. It’s allowed because of the constant supervision walking around and the idea that anyone might snitch you out for reward. That being said, Dan usually sits alone and stays quiet. He’d say some shit joke sooner or later.

He’s entirely impatient waiting in line, and terrified people will sit around her. He even skips out on grabbing a cluster roll, his favourite thing here, to run past the line and swipe his card to pay so he can walk through the gate.  _ 20 bloody pounds today _ .

He sits next to her, that’s how he sees most people talking quietly. The people that talk loudly across the table only say the generic phrases.  _ Lovely weather eh, blessed day, the stocks are looking hopeful, aren’t our soldiers brave…. _

“It’s amazing to see you,” she says, in a whisper that sounds just like music to his ears.

“You too, I’ve been so excited all morning.” He stares forward at his food. 

“Me too, I got a glare for looking happy.”

“How dare you.” Dan smiles, feeling his dry lips crack. 

They stay silent as heavy footsteps walk behind them. He takes a bite of his beans and listens to the murmur hush around him.

“When did you get here?” He asks.

“Today. I was in production, sewing, and I had an...accident.” She slides her hand over and he stares down at her bandaged hand and bitten nails. “Apparently I wasn’t all that valuable, and I had a few knocks. I’ve been bumped down two statuses.”

“What’s the status in between packaging and production?”

“Quality assurance.”

“Fucking lame.” She snickers and he bows his head down to smile. He’s seen people get smacked with the baton for less but he doesn’t really care right now about this prison experiment shit he’s in.

He clears his throat, not realizing how dry it is after barely speaking for weeks on end. 

“Have you...uh….”

“Yes.”

“What?”

“I found them. Him and Phil.” 

He rocks forward and back again and feels fresh tears come to his eyes. He pinches the spot where he ripped a hangnail off earlier and tries to get a hold of himself, to remember his reality. It’s silent between them for a minute and he’s really okay to settle into this nice feeling of knowing Phil is alive and that hope exists.

“You talked to him?” He asks.

“No. Martyn found him, I found Mar. They’re only floors away though, they can sneak into each other’s dining spaces if they go fast enough down the stairs.”

“Where?”

“That old Leadenhall building. The triangle one. They’re white collar, Dan.”

“Jesus. Fuckin’ meritocracy.”

  
  
“Phil’s an editor. Mar’s in supply chain.”

He breathes in deeply at the information. Phil isn’t doing bad. Not at all.

A guard paces behind them, another across the table. They’ve probably been spotted exchanging too much quiet conversation.

“Would you like my cluster roll? I’m quite full.” Cornelia says it loud and monotone, dropping the bread out of her fist and onto an empty spot of his plate.

“Thank you. Blessings to you,” he says, awkwardly.

They eat in silence but the presence of her there is lovely as it is. A million questions run through his brain and he almost regrets not asking them immediately, but it would have been harder to look inconspicuous. 

She gets up to leave and brushes against his back. It’s enough to feel like a hug but the loss of her makes his chest sink. He hasn’t been with a friend in, well, he hasn’t been counting the days like some others.

Dan lifts up his cluster bun, genuinely grateful for the gesture, and then he sees a slip of paper beneath. He takes a quick bite and drops the rest back on top of the small white square. He picks it up again, getting his finger under the slip of paper, then shoves the bun in his mouth while keeping the paper in his hand. He doesn’t dare look at the guards. 

After a few moments, it seems he got away with it, though it might take ten more minutes for his heart to calm. He so desperately wants to look but that would be stupid.

In fact, he keeps it in his sweaty palm all day, folded beneath his thumb while he holds invoices. He walks home with two fists, hoping with all his might that he doesn’t get a random search today. 

It’s quite lucky that he walks by a rough area, the even worse blue-collar factories. Someone like him is rarely the target.

He walks into his apartment building and takes two steps at a time up. In his room, he goes immediately to the bed pushed against the right wall, crawling under the covers just in case there really is a hidden camera on the left side of the room, too. He still hasn’t found anything, though.

The sheet is actually damp from sweat and very crumpled but the ink looks okay. The backside is shiny with a border, one of the sticker pages with addresses to put on the boxes. Genius.

> Walk South on Gracechurch St. from the church to Leadenhall St., right side @ 7:50.
> 
> Keep bein’ strong
> 
> Love you xxxx 

He reads it so many times that he could never, ever forget it. It has to be directions to Phil, right?

The paper is folded up eventually and shoved between his headboard and his mattress.

-

His only plan to get to the destination is walking confidently. There are orange jumpsuits working out this way too, restaurant workers and cleaners that serve the higher statuses, mostly. He’s always been good at directions so he’s gone over this path many times in his head.

He can’t be too eager, he needs to be on the road  _ at _ 7:50. He watches his analog watch, hoping it’s synced right and changes his pace accordingly. People need to stay single file and he can sense them tailgating him, nearly stepping on his heels with every step.

It’s 7:49 when he’s close, and he hasn’t felt so proud of himself in a long time. He walks normally now, a few seconds early can’t be too bad. 

Men glance back at him as he stares them down. He does his best to keep his head angled forward, so the guards won’t see his wandering, suspicious eyes.

His jaw twitches when he sees a black quiff but it’s the wrong face. He’s almost at the corner too. 

Then, down the road, he sees him turn the corner, walking with one hand in a little fist and a coffee cup in the other. He’s in a bloody suit. It shouldn’t be so surprising in the row of suits.

Did Cornelia have communication with him? Is he expecting Dan to walk by?

He bares his eyes into Phil’s, his lip beginning to quiver, but Phil just stares forward like a robot. 

The first plan was to take this slow, assess the situation, just see Phil. But he’s not exactly a patient person, really he’s quite reckless, so the other plan is in the front of his mind.

Plan B, it must be. Now he has to be brave.

He walks delicately on the balls of his feet for a few strides, hearing his pulse raise with the nerves. He has to time it right and he has to do it  _ now. _

He steps one ankle in front of the other and flails his arms up, collapsing sideways and colliding with a bony hip and long legs that break his fall. A familiar yelp makes his heart flutter even as they hit the ground, hard.

His hands are in the air immediately, even as his torso rolls onto the pavement right next to Phil. Everyone around has halted and loud cocking noises fill the air. Phil sucks in air through his teeth like he’s in pain. He can see guns pointed at him from three areas, the guards walking closer.

“I fell! God, I’m a bloody mess, I tripped over my own feet, I swear...sirs!” 

“Uh, gah,” Phil stutters and Dan thinks he’s caught on to who just body checked him on the ground. He stares at him now, and his hair does look a little silver among the mousiness and it’s cut into a slightly drooping quiff, his eyes are like the brightest thing he’s seen in years. His skin burns red right now.

“Uh, well, get up will ya’.” He feels metal bonk his head from behind.

“I’m so sorry, sir,” Dan scrambles up, keeping his eyes on Phil like he can’t look away. “My bad, may I help you up...sir?” He moves his arms slowly in front and only hears a grumble from a guard.

Phil takes both of his hands and lets Dan struggle to pull up his full weight. It’s a struggle to keep the frown on Dan’s face, squeezing these soft hands. He looks so wonderfully handsome, he instantly wonders just how much power Phil might have at this job level. Those are the rumours he heard across the table, the high-ups get to keep their wives with them. 

He discovers a fatal flaw in that plan and coughs, trying to stay present while he has this.

“Enough touching!” The voice behind him is more aggressive now. He makes sure his hands are facing downward as he slowly lets go. Thankfully, he sees Phil close up his fists and no paper drops to the ground in front of these security guards.

He doesn’t want to know those consequences. Phil must be screaming at him internally. His eyes are bugged wide.

“Oh, I spilled your coffee, let me grab that for you.” Dan bends down.

“Stop. Do not touch his items.” 

He freezes and stares at Phil. He can see him trembling and it puts a rock in his throat instantly, but it's more emotion than he’s experienced in a long while, he welcomes it.

The guard picks up the empty, sticky coffee cup and hands it to Phil, who awkwardly grabs it with his other hand that doesn’t have Dan’s note. The guard looks young, even younger than Dan. The hesitation is obvious. They clearly got lucky.

“Now, move on.” He pushes Dan’s shoulder roughly and he stumbles into a fast walk, speeding to catch up to the person far ahead before a guard decides to kick him down or something.

He instantly feels like he could cry that’s it’s already over. But things have gone shockingly well. He managed to write legibly with soy sauce and a plastic fork. It dried overnight. Phil got the note and didn’t break down into tears. Not yet, anyway.

Dan stayed alive, after risking everything to just get back to Phil.

“Blessed morning!” He yells back before the adrenaline wears off. His voice cracks.


	2. Overture ii.

He’s late to work. It’s not new to him. There have been many days he just didn’t have the will to get out of bed, so he knows that three late strikes make him lose dining hall privileges for a week, and an absence gets soldiers coming to his apartment. He hasn’t had another absence.

Cornelia and him cross paths that day of work, too, when he comes in drenched with sweat from his adventure. 

When he knows she’s spotted him, he turns his head and smiles as he steps up to the piles of invoices.

It was enough adrenaline for the day, so he doesn’t seek her out again. By chance, he ends up a few boxes down from her once before lunch, and he holds up the shirt he has to package, pretending to assess it. He checks that she’s looking and smirks. She’ll understand the black clothing joke. It’s hilarious when he’s forced to wear this ghastly orange outfit, really. 

At lunch, she sits across and two seats to his left. She’s careful. It’s still nice to see the red curls out of the corner of his eye, less bright and much longer than he’s ever seen. The guards hover behind him, reading the number across his bicep. He’s been marked for closer inspection, she probably has been too. She’s smart to sit apart, so very smart. He wishes he could tell her what he did this morning.

This day goes by faster than any day he’s ever had before. The ten hours with thirty minutes break usually drags on until it’s unbearable. Six days a week, every week, leaving Sunday for church. His shoulders lock forward and feel as if he has nails hammered into the back of his neck constantly. His fingers ache, his wrists ache, his feet ache, he’s probably aged tenfold in the time he’s been here.

Thus far he’s avoided counting. He doesn’t look at the date or even own a calendar, he walks to work and if everyone begins walking in the other direction, he follows them to church.

It’s impossible not to recognize the seasons passing by. Maybe he should just do the math now that he has a tangible event, the reconnection with Phil.

They were removed from their home in the winter, just after the much appreciated Christmas. It was a solemn day, as if they could sense it coming. They were watching old unedited video footage, laying on the sofa together. The Internet was gone by that point, nothing new to watch. With the choice of old DVDs and their own creations, they chose the more comforting and rather vain option.

The news was hard to come by with no phone towers or service, but there was enough reporting about the United States beforehand that they knew what to expect when a heavy fist rapped on the door.

Maybe they should have tried to cross the border long before, but the way it turned out was the locks being broken while they hugged on the couch and Phil cried. 

He wipes his eye at the sign of a tear. It will not do to have a breakdown here and cause yet another scene. He cuts the memory off.

The weather is cooling down, the grass turning brown, after a horrendous heatwave that left Dan sure he was in hell. It must be fall. He experienced last winter alone.

Almost two years, then. It must be 2027. He must be 36, Phil 40 already. It hurts his heart. It was a bad idea to acknowledge the time lost. 

He turns back to the man walking behind him, “Tell me,” he says in a loud voice to not raise suspicion. A man looks surprised at the exchange. “What day of the week is it? I just can’t remember.”

“Thursday.”

“Thank you.”  
  
“Blessed evening.” 

“Yeah, you too.” Dan walks forward again.

They will be able to see each other again, as long as Phil follows his note. Phil needs to be brave now.

Dan walks home slowly, feeling emotionally exhausted. Today has had more excitement than all 600 or so days before combined.

He watches the blue-collar workers through the long fence. He’s not sure it’s really considered blue-collar anymore, this back-breaking and dangerous construction going on. These people are working as he walks to work and as he walks home. He can’t even imagine those hours.

There’s a stark difference in skin tone when he looks here and when he thinks of his own workplace. Maybe he should be grateful for his innate privileges, but it just makes him feel sick. He walks faster.

The tears flow when he’s home, pressed up to the right wall directly under the security camera. It’s been a long while since emotions have come through the cascade of his numbness, let alone opened in a waterfall like this.

God, it fucking hurts, but it’s better.

-

Dan counts down the days until Sunday. He dreams and plans the entire time. He needs to try, sooner than later. For no real reason other than he wants something more in life. Phil being the _ more. _

He’s dressed two hours early and he paces around the room. Usually, Sunday is for a lie-in until 9 instead of 8 when he can stare at the ceiling, massage his own joints, and try to meditate. Today his muscles seem strong, his brain sharp, his hopes high.

It’s his turn to tailgate the slow walkers in front of him. All the short, slow seniors make his temper rise and he works on his breathing as he checks his watch repeatedly.

The stream of people turns into a queue and he stands stiff when it’s his turn to run metal detectors along his body. He avoids eye contact, hoping for once that he doesn’t show his emotions on his sleeve, because that emotion would be the very suspicious emotion of full-blown panic.

In the end, they open the gates for him and he hasn’t been shot dead, yet. Shocking.

Third row from the back on the right near the middle aisle. He sees a familiar curved neck. It’s a close call to bumping into the person in front of him.

Phil came.

He glares at the backs of heads in front of them, willing them not to sit next to Phil. They move forward, slow as turtles. It makes Dan want to scream, but suddenly, he’s in front of Phil.

Dan shuffles in sideways to the long wooden benches and sits, facing forward. He waits a minute for his heart to stop racing. 

In fact, it’s probably smart to wait until more people are seated and the guards aren’t stalking around quite so intensely. He sits straight and stares forward until his ass is numb.

Something touches his pinky. Then it overlaps his pinky, just barely brushes against his ring finger. He can feel the tremble in the touch and he inches back, pushing his hand under the palm. Something pointy touches the side of his hand and he lifts it up so Phil can shove a piece of paper under.

_ Stealing my moves, huh? _He jokes in his head, covering the paper with his palm as Phil’s hand disappears.

When the minister begins talking finally, He brings his hands together in front of him and quickly shoves it down the front of his pants.

A guard appears out of the corner of his eye and he freezes. 

“Hey!” the man says in a low voice.

Dan doesn’t move but he sees Phil's head shoot to the side.

“More space between you two.” He waves at them and Dan scoots a couple of inches away. The guard walks on.

A booming voice begins to ring through the church. _ “So I looked, and behold, a pale horse. And the name of him who sat on it was Death, with Hades following behind. And power was given to them over a fourth of the earth, to kill by fire and hunger and the beasts of the earth.” _

Phil is visibly trembling, breathing quickly through his mouth. Dan focuses on his own breathing and does it loudly, almost obnoxious, in through his nose and out through his mouth, lifting his chest. Phil catches on and follows suit, slowing the panicked breaths. He helped Phil with breathing exercises so many times before. They used to do so many things together. 

_ “And the four angels, who had been prepared for the hour were released to kill a third of mankind.” _The priest hits the altar with his fist. 

It’s a big church. He has no idea if it existed before or if churches have looked so plain for a while. There is no choir, no colourful posters, no nativity scenes or candles to pray at. Not like the Church he went to as a kid. There is no coffee and biscuit time after—the absolute best part—but some people do linger and pray. There do exist confessionals and groups led by the most devoted. Sometimes he walks around just because he can. He steps on the dead flies.

_ “And then many were offended, did betray one another, and did hate one another. Matthew 24:10.” _

He stares at Phil’s legs, which feels inconspicuous enough. He’s wearing black trousers. People with better jobs are given nice clothes to show status, Dan knows. He looks thin, his knees protrude, is it more than they did before? His left knee bounces, up and down, just like Dan used to do. It annoyed Phil to no end, he’d hold onto Dan’s thigh to stop it. Even in public sometimes.

_ “We have the prophetic message as something completely reliable, and you will do well to pay attention to it, as to a light shining in a dark place, until the day dawns and the morning star rises in your hearts. Above all, you must understand that no prophecy of Scripture came about by the prophet’s own interpretation of things. For prophecy never had its origin in the human will, but prophets, though human, spoke from God as they were carried along by the Holy Spirit.” _

Dan puts his hand between them. Waiting for Phil. It doesn’t come. He took for granted those last few moments of feeling those soft hands.

_ “God warned us of the dystopia that came, and he has since saved us from it. Jesus has sacrificed for our sins, for our life, and we give him our blessings. Through the State, we have found our faith, our devotion, and our morality. We have survived the era of Revelations and are freed of past sins, with due thanks to our Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.” _

There’s a murmur across the crowd, from Phil as well. Dan never says it. One little piece of resistance. 

The service always begins with a spiel of this kind, then continues on to various teachings that Dan tries to zone out until more thanks and blessings are given to the State and God. They will be here for a couple of hours, and for once, he’s grateful. 

Phil hooks his pinky onto Dan’s and scoots in, just slightly.

-

When it ends, people begin to shuffle out, but Dan and Phil stay still, hands now to themselves. The footsteps suddenly make everything a lot louder.

“I have a giant bruise on my ass,” Phil says, staring straight forward. Dan muffles a snort.

“I bruised my hip on your hip.”

“My hip can tell.”

“Sorry. You okay?”

“Yeah. The bruises and the pain reminds me of you.”

Dan stays silent, trying to control emotions from slipping over.

“That’s a good thing,” Phil adds on, eventually.

“I know.”

They’re silent for a minute. A baby is crying somewhere. It’s very rare to see children nowadays.

“I’m wearing two sets of my uniform. I can take it off in a washroom and you can take it, then I’ll try to get you in my apartment,” Dan says. He can immediately see Phil shaking his head in his peripheral.

“It’s too risky.”

“I’ve thought it through—”

“You already put us in so much risk. A different guard would have shot us immediately.” Phil puts his head down, lifting his clasped hands to his forehead. He rubs with his thumbs. Have his headaches been getting worse?

“Well, it didn’t happen,” Dan says.

“Do you have no value for our lives? Have you given up?” Phil whispers it, sounding angry. It makes Dan tense up.

“Don’t you want us to be together?” He shoots back. “I searched for you every fucking day.”

“I just need you alive until this thing is over.”

“And if it doesn’t end?”

Phil just shakes his head.

Dan feels such a wave of sadness. He doesn’t want to see Phil upset. Ever, really.

“Come to this church from now on. Sit with me every Sunday. I just want to see you.” The church is emptying fast, they won’t be able to talk much more.

Phil nods.

The guards that watch people leave are back to their stations around the room. There’s one at the circles of people in prayer, making sure no one is scheming a resistance. 

People are scattered among the pews, looking deep in prayer. Dan mimics their stances, bowing his head, but looking at Phil’s knees again. He so wants to lay his head right there.

They stay until guards tell them to leave.

-

> Hi. I’m trying to think of how to be cautious so I’m not going to use our real names in this. We get code names, that’s cool, huh? Maybe Pinky and the Brain? The Fox and the Hound? Red and Blue? The Destroyer and his sidekick? We both know who I am in that one.
> 
> I’ll try to think of something better.
> 
> I hope this humour isn’t super inappropriate right now. I know there’s a lot I should be telling you but I feel kind of giddy after seeing you for the first time in forever. You were always my best distraction, and I kind of want to act like it’s old times. Let me pretend.
> 
> I am mad at you, though. We’re lucky to not have been shot dead. I really can’t believe you put us in danger like that, and I’m being serious. Also, it really did hurt, I’m not as young and spunky as I used to be. I think I’m getting arthritis and osteoporosis, actually.
> 
> But I do have to say, seeing you made me feel alive again.
> 
> I dream of this all ending all the time. Maybe we’ll be able to finally adopt kids. Maybe they’ll send us to Mars to raise the new generation. 
> 
> To be honest, all I really wish for is to cuddle you and be free of impending danger. How is that too much to ask for? I also want to watch Buffy. I want to eat pizza. I want to hug Mum. I should have written those in a different order, Mum is first on my list. I just want to feel comforted for once. 
> 
> I’m so scared all the time. But I’m relatively safe, I guess. I hope you’re staying safe. I need you to not give up. It would break me.
> 
> Love, the Lion.
> 
> PS. You’re Bear. I know, it’s lame, but I need something cheesy.
> 
> PPS. No rawr jokes. Please. We’re literally experiencing the end of the world and it’s my last wish.

The sun goes down and it’s beginning to hurt Dan’s eyes to read with the little light shining through the barred window and under his bedsheet. He just might be happy enough now to daydream of nice things until he falls asleep, and maybe he’ll have a good dream tonight, too.

He has a slight appetite, too. He walks to the kitchen. It’s all in the same room, even a toilet that’s badly installed and wobbles when he sits on it. Talk about unsanitary.

He has half of a stale wheat bread loaf that he cuts and he smears on some beans he smushes up. He adds salt and pepper. A dab of soy sauce across it. This has grown on him, to be honest. All he needs in food to be happy now is one condiment.

He’s fully vegan now, at least.

That’s a joke he’d like to tell Phil in his letter. Phil would appreciate it.

He’d better start saving his soy sauce, then.


	3. Overture iii.

Cornelia doesn’t sit near him the next day. She doesn’t even seem to look at him, even though he knows he’s quite noticeable at his height. She sits by another woman and in his staring, he sees them whisper while she lifts food to her mouth with a bandaged hand.

Has she found someone else she knew from before? Or is she up to something?

He watches with a weird feeling in his gut until a security guard shows up behind them. Cornelia tentatively stands and the tall guard puts a hand on her waist. She instantly twists out of his gaze and it looks for a minute that the rage on his face will turn into something more but she stalks out with her head high before he reacts. 

Dan clenches his teeth together. He’s so confused and scared and angry and he doesn’t know what to do with it. He’s feeling distant from one of his best friends and he doesn’t know what she’s really going through. Why didn’t he ask her?

He tries to hover near her when they’re working. The frown on her face is familiar, she’s clearly upset. If only they could talk it out.

He also shoves a full sheet of paper down his pants after taking off the last sticker, using a crowd of people ruffling through boxes to cover him. The paper cuts are going to have to be worth it.

The rustling noise makes him paranoid for the rest of the day but he shuffles his feet and leaves work at 18:00 exactly. 

He’s barely paying attention to where he walks, too distracted writing a novel-sized letter in his head, but as he’s passing the familiar fence he hears a sound. People. And they’re singing.

It sounds like a hum from this distance but it gives him chills across his arms and up to his neck. That has to be one thing he misses the most from  _ before.  _ He would give anything to listen to his Spotify again. Absolutely anything.

Men and women are still working but they’re smiling and humming. He looks back and forth and he’s not the only person who has stopped to watch while a line continues walking along. A woman with tightly wound curls taps on some wood like the drums and he can’t keep his eyes away.

A man yells from somewhere and there’s no doubt it’s a security guard who caught on. The humming stops instantly and people continue working as if nothing happened. Dan begins walking immediately, not looking back.

He hums the tune under his breath, only stopping when he walks past security.

-

Dan can feel the distance between him and Phil a lot stronger since being connected again. He’s sure it was worse at the very beginning but he doesn’t particularly want to remember the emotional turmoil he was going through then. If anything, he knows now that his mind can adapt to any situation and he can keep his body alive even at the worst of the world.

But now he knows where Phil is and he misses him so much it hurts his chest. He doesn’t care if he has to miss lunch for another week, seeing Phil’s face for a few seconds honestly seems worth it right now.

The next morning at 7:50 he returns to the same street and Phil catches his eye immediately. They smile and they walk on. He looks back at his hair that’s grown too long down his neck and the loose suit jacket on his shoulders.

It’s the best part of Dan’s day. Especially because Cornelia is sitting with the woman again. Whispering, clenching their jaws, staring around suspiciously. She makes eye contact with him this time, though.

-

> Hello Lion. It’s not really that lame but I feel like I’m giving you the ego boost you don’t deserve by calling you a ferocious apex predator. Also, why do we have to sound like furries? I know we played around before but c’mon. If a guard catches us they’re really going to be disturbed. How did you even write that without making a single furry joke? You’ve lost yourself man.
> 
> I need the humour, I think. I don’t know how I’ve coped without it but believe you me, I learned to shut the fuck up really fast. I don’t say shit to anyone. I’m a walking zombie. 
> 
> I miss music, too. I heard some people singing in the construction yard. I hope they’re okay. Gave me my first ear worm of months, I haven’t been able to forget it and I want to hear it again. 
> 
> Don’t even get me started on how much I miss you. I fucking crave you. Everyday. 
> 
> I’m writing this in soy sauce and it’s fucking difficult and sticky and smelly. I want to tell you my plan but my hand is aching from clenching this fork. Let me come back to it.
> 
> PS. rawr means...

Dan places it under the bed to dry. It’s messy but hopefully, Phil is accustomed enough to his handwriting. 

He still has some nervous energy to work off. He’s dangerously low on food, not that he eats much anyway.

They use tablets for this, too, little Samsung looking things. He sends in orders for food and clothing and hygiene and sees the luxury items for more pay than he’d possibly ever make here, probably to spark ambition or something. His bank is on here, too, a number that he swears goes up arbitrarily. And slowly. Sometimes he only gets a few pounds for a day. And recently, a loaf of bread is  £10 on a good day and £30 on others. It changes every time he looks.

This means the Internet exists, though there are no buttons, no other things on the tablet to look at, except for inquiries from the State in an email-like folder. There must be towers still up, at least one network. Maybe if he was a smarter person he could hack this and get communication. Maybe some people have.

Other countries must have the Internet, right? The ones who protested. The governments were neutral at worst and denounceful at best. At least when it first happened to America. Before Britain’s leader adopted the changes and everything went dark.

Usually, he doesn’t open the inquiries he gets from the State. He’s not gullible, he read  _ 1984 _ in college, he’s kept up with leftist politics for the last decade and a half. He knows that there haven’t been huge reversals in climate change and he knows that birth rates are not up. The economy isn’t thriving and there is no positive opinion of the current leadership. Maybe there is a war going on, but who the fuck knows where that stands. 

Dan tried his best, beforehand. He made it out to marches and protests. Even convinced Phil with the more peaceful ones. He made videos that got more dislikes than he thought possible. He shared articles every day. Posted in the hashtags, tried to be positive. He kept up with the news, not just the BBC and every Contrapoints video, he really tried to read what the scholars warned about and the International opinion, he pushed through hours of reading things that gave him a crisis because he knew the different outcome would ruin his life more than his deteriorating mental health even could.

It was something he joked about a lot, that at the sign of the apocalypse he would just jump off a building, fuck it all. It seemed easy in theory when everything becomes too much to handle. Maybe his body and brain really are designed to keep him alive. Maybe he really does  _ want  _ to be alive, despite the daily torture forced upon him. It could be all that shit him and Phil planned for the future, he doesn’t want to leave without completing what was promised to him. Maybe he just needs to see the end of this to rest peacefully.

It’s not even the apocalypse. Well, maybe. He never really understood what the result of climate change would look like in the end, and maybe no one wanted to spell it out. But this is just some dystopian shit, through and through. Changes that promised to end climate change and war and poverty. This supposedly free-market yet caste hell hole of an oligarchy that stifles the protesting citizens so the powerful can thrive. That’s what he thought before, at least, it’s not like he has any insight anymore. The State frames it like the steps to utopia. He hates how muddled it all seems now.

Soy sauce is fucking £45. It’s basically a luxury item now, along with the other condiments that would save his taste buds. It would be really great if he could buy a pen, how the fuck did Cornelia and Phil do it?

It’s important to get food that is filling, lots of carbohydrates. Vegetables and fruits are expensive and arrive close to rotten. Meat is a luxury. Eggs are sold by the pair but he sometimes caves when his body is needing something of sustenance. Pasta is a fair choice, but sauce and cheese are expensive. Canned food is an easy choice, and it’s all he eats, really. 

He could buy some basic clothing but he needs to wear his orange pants and shirt to work anyway, a ghastly marker to his status. It looks like a prison outfit just as much as work feels like a prison. Otherwise, he saves up for underwear, socks, and a winter coat that he splurged on last year. This year he needs new shoes, the soles have worn nearly to nothing. 

God. He wants a vacation. He wants to have good food and look cute and see the world with Phil. He wants the independence and power he had before, the freedom and love. He wants to have fun and have a drink and see his mum again. She had a forced placement in caretaking early on. He hopes they treat her well.

Dan orders the same food as usual and watches his balance immediately drain.

-

On Friday, Cornelia sits next to him.

“I need a favour,” she whispers.

“Anything.”

“Come early to work tomorrow and look for an invoice that has only orange shirts.”

“Like, in my list?”

“Maybe if we’re lucky. But it could be in anyone’s.”

He’s silent for a moment. “You want me to look through other people’s tablets?”

“Yes, and give it to me.”

“Why?”

She shakes her head, curls ruffling. Her face doesn’t give anything away right now, she looks almost...calm.

“The guards.” He whispers. Anxiety has spread down to his fingers and he doesn’t touch his food.

“I’ll be helping.”

He’s quiet, at a loss of words and also wary of the guards beginning to gather near them.

“Please,” she whispers, her voice soft and desperate.

-

  
  


Cornelia is first in line with two women behind her when Dan arrives. One is the woman he’s seen Cornelia speak to. She’s older with blonde hair so faded and brittle it’s nearly grey by now.

They all stare forward obediently with cards in hand and he has the feeling he’s not the only one to have been recruited.

A few minutes before eight o’clock a security guard beckons Cornelia forward and she scans herself through the bars, head held high. 

He walks fast to catch up to the other women and sees them go into separate packaging offices, while he goes into his own. Cornelia stands at the desk scrolling through a tablet.

Dan finds his own first. He hovers awkwardly and reads through like he’s checking out his jobs. His breathing comes out heavy, especially in the empty room. He’s never, ever, this early. Does the guard find it suspicious? The tall man hovers by the door still.

Cornelia sets the tablet down and picks up another one, gently to make no noise, and calmly resumes as though it’s the exact same. There are so many strewn about. When Dan has finished his own with no luck, he checks to see if the guard is watching and does the same, feeling his heart pick up. God, he’s going to have a heart attack in the next year, isn’t he?

A couple of men walk in and grab their tablets. One walks off, while one old man stands near them and scrolls through slowly. He feels slightly less suspicious. 

When more people walk in a shuffle in front of them he gets nervous. This is his third one now and people are going to notice him switching them. Snitches get rewards. This will be easily checked on the cameras. What about when the person whose invoices he’s holding comes?

At the next chance of idleness, he switches back to his own and walks off. 

He works diligently and only looks for Cornelia when he’s at the table ripping packaging tape with his teeth. 

She looks back and glares at him. It knocks the air out of him, she’s never looked at him like that, with such disdain. He feels the colour drain from his face. He finds the sticker for the address on his invoice and shakily applies it. There’s a huge lump in his throat, guilt in his heart.

Cornelia wouldn’t have wanted him to get in trouble, right? Is she being safe, looking out for herself enough? She feels almost like a different person to him.

At lunch, he goes a bit faster and sees her sitting with the older woman, but the spot on the other side of her is empty. He gets his food, bouncing on his feet, and makes it to the spot. 

They don’t say anything, she doesn’t even acknowledge him, but he has a strong feeling she’s very mad.

“Sorry.” He mumbles, with peas in his mouth.

She’s quiet.

“Maybe someone else found it?” He asks.

“No one did. We missed the chance.”

“What chance?”

“What other forms of communication do you think we have?” She snaps.

Dan stares at his food. He’s nervous by the volume of her voice.

“Just,” she sighs. “Some people don’t get a chance to resist.” 

“Are you suggesting there’s—”

A hand slaps on her shoulder and he flinches with her, shaking the bench.

“I’m going, alright?” She stands with her hands up, turning towards the door but the man holds her back with a steady hand, making her trip up.

Then, he pushes her along, leading her out. Dan risks a look to the woman next to the empty seat and her eyes are wide. 

Before he can react to a loud scuffling noise, loose arms wrap around his neck.

“I love you.” She’s pulled away roughly but not before she gets a kiss on his cheek. People watch curiously.

She stares around as she’s pulled out of the room. People look to one another and fidget in their seats. It feels almost like excitement, and Dan isn’t sure if the anxious energy is just buzzing around him. 

No more of his food is eaten, but he stares at his plate while guards shuffle behind him and tap on tablets, reading the identification number on his arm.

He’s going to have a record now. And he doesn’t give a single fuck.


	4. Overture iv.

It’s church day. He doesn’t think he’s ever been excited about church in his life, but Phil will be there. It doesn’t even matter if it’s like attending a Hitler speech. 

He’s not sure that he deserves such a good thing in life. He didn’t sleep, not even for a moment. Cornelia is on his mind. He wonders what will happen to her. He wonders if he will see her again. He wonders what will happen to him as an accomplice. And since when has he been so self-involved?

The guilt won’t leave and he scratches his dry hands roughly until they bleed. He doesn’t care. He failed to help Cornelia and now anything could be happening to her. If he had just been brave and looked through more invoices it could have at least been worth it, to accomplish whatever Cornelia has been planning.

He’s apparently too fucking selfish for that so it feels great to come here and give himself the comfort he selfishly craves, of Phil right next to him.

Dan is more confident getting through the gates, at least. He goes to sit with Phil, in the same outfit as last week. Dan wishes he could wear something as nice, which is actually allowed at church, but it would take weeks of starvation to afford.

He bumps his shoulder as he sits down. The thick piece of paper is folded up twelve times and like a little rock in his fist. He puts his hand down just like Phil is doing, palm flat against the bench, and hesitantly switches their hands. A similar feeling lump is under his palm and he scoops up another thick note from Phil, eyes scanning his peripheral.

Phil is spoiling him. Another letter to read at night, over and over and over again. Dan hopes Phil enjoys his own letter just as much. After explaining his plan to getting Phil into his apartment, he confessed his love about six times, getting more and more illegible.

Dan clears his throat. It’s tempting to just distract himself with the comfort of Phil here but Cornelia is still on his mind, weighing his shoulders down with guilt.

“Corn is in trouble,” he mutters.

Phil physically flinches, turning his head to listen more.

“Escorted by a guard at lunch.”

“Why?” Phil asks.

Dan doesn’t really know what to say. “I think she’s in a resistance.”

Phil stays quiet and Dan peeks over to see his eyebrows raised in worry.

He nods. “Mar’s worried sick, all the time.”

“What’s going to happen to her?”

  
“I don’t know.” Phil puts his head forward into his hands and Dan thinks he might be crying.

“I’m so sorry.”

“Why?” He lifts his head.

“I was supposed to help her, but I couldn’t.”

“It’s not your fault. I refused her, too.” Phil says.

“I just failed.”

Phil hangs his head and the preacher begins talking, the rest of the room going silent.

It feels worse. But he can’t get it out of his mind that she was brave. 

He takes a big step himself and grabs Phil’s hand, squeezing it before letting go. 

No one yells at them, no one saw. It only made his heart flutter. Phil has stayed soft.

Every brave action he has taken makes him feel good. Alive. In a world that quite literally sucks his soul out.

Maybe that’s how Cornelia felt. He’s never seen her like this because they’ve never been so desperate, because she could always live free-spirited. With empathy and understanding so strong that of course this world crushes her. It crushes Dan.

The women that were helping her, too. He doesn’t really know what they go through. What has happened to his empathy?

He never thought he’d be so complacent. He wishes he was more like her, like he’d always imagined he’d be. Doing anything in his power to fight the power. For months and months he’s been working long hours, finding peace by just thinking about how much he hates the State. It does nothing, really.

\- 

When the sermon ends and half of the room shuffles out, he finally turns away from Phil.

It was a long talk about resilience but he really couldn’t pay attention. Too much scheming on his mind.

“Go into the second stall of the men’s washroom quickly after I’m done. Read the note in there.”

Dan moves fast enough that Phil doesn’t get to reply. He will just have to trust.

There might be cameras in the washroom, but he might have to just gamble on the fact that every camera in the world can’t be watched at once. Not when they’re at every corner of London.

He goes in there to the stalls empty, thankfully. Only a couple of men are at the urinals. He walks into the second one and immediately strips. His one outfit, at least, to reveal the same outfit beneath, the two uniforms he owns with unraveling seams. He revels in the cool air on his sweaty skin and messily folds up the uniform, putting it on the back of the toilet. If Phil doesn’t come, he will lose half of the clothing he owns. 

He steps out and walks outside the bathroom. Phil is standing warily by the back of the pews but walks hesitantly, passing Dan and going into the room. Dan sits on the back pew and pretends to pray, keeping his eyes peeking to the door.

He waits. And waits. Minutes pass and other people come and go from the washroom. Maybe he can go in and retrieve the outfit and pretend this whole thing just didn’t happen. He’ll have to go in before he’s kicked out or else he’s screwed. Furthermore, if a guard finds it, they’ll check the number on the bicep and give him a knock, or worse. It looks like scheming, obviously. God, what has he done?

Then, Phil finally emerges dressed in orange, tugging at the sleeve.

-

He stands, walking around the bench and slowly towards the exit. He will have to trust that Phil is following him, single file, out past the guards and down the sidewalk, by the sad-looking park and the old buildings and the fenced-in construction yards. 

There are no security gates at the entrance to his apartment, apparently protecting citizens isn’t nearly as important as churches and workplaces. Just cameras placed everywhere and a young guard that you can see through a window watching a tablet.

As he approaches his building, he points a finger towards it, then keeps walking. At the next intersection, he crosses, then walks back the way he came from until the next crosswalk, where he goes back to his street and circles inconspicuously to his apartment. Try to outlaw going for a walk, fucking government. 

With his face neutral, he walks to his apartment and opens the door that doesn’t have a lock. He controls his expression but wishes he could scream at the sight of Phil at his bed, pressed to the wall with a deer-in-headlights expression under the security camera in Phil’s room. 

It almost feels too good to be true, and Dan doesn’t move for far too long.

When he finally moves towards his bed, Phil whispers.

“I cannot believe you, I told you this was too dangerous! We could  _ still  _ get caught and all of this would be so nothing, why do you have to be so reckless? We could have just seen each other every week—“

“Don’t you want more?” He lays down a foot away, suddenly feeling awkward like he hasn’t in years. He hasn’t been physically close to anyone for a year and a half. 

“Yeah, more with us  _ alive. _ ”

“They can’t put microphones in buildings, every single room of a city of millions, how would they listen? They just scan recordings and scare us with the hypothetical—“

“God, you’re fucking!” Phil groans and next thing Dan knows, Phil has grabbed his wrists roughly and pulls him forward right on top of Phil.

Then Phil is sobbing breathily, pulling Dan over him more like a blanket and pushing his face into his neck.

Dan is too shocked for a good thirty seconds until he feels an explosion of emotion and he cries too, pushing at the mattress with his toes as if he can get any closer. He gets his arms around Phil and squeezes.

“You’re stupid and I hate you,” Phil says.

Dan laughs shortly, “I know.”

“I can’t breathe, also,” Phil says, so Dan finally lifts up on his elbows.

“Switch with me,” he says because being right on top of each other is just as close as he wants to be. 

They maneuver around and Phil seems to be heeding the camera quite seriously and cramming against the wall. He’s okay to use up the most minimal of space if it means being crammed together. Dan pulls him down on top of him and breathes in. 

Phil has lost weight. He can tell. Dan can feel the bone of his hips and his waist feels particularly small. His arms are small and he’s not crushing Dan like he once would with the pudge on his stomach. Dan runs his hands over his back, at the bumps of his spine. His mouth falls open, he can’t believe he really got Phil  _ here. _

“You’re taking care of yourself? Eating?” Dan asks.

The ghost of a smile flits across Phil’s face and he nods. “Food isn’t as much of a comfort as it used to be. You also look like you’ve lost weight.”

“We’re withering away.”

“Don’t say that.” Phil sniffles and wipes his cheeks and Dan leans back to look up at him.

There are wrinkle indents on his head, discoloured skin on his chin, hair on moles that Dan has never seen. His lips are chapped for once and suddenly he realizes that every second he’s here he’s missing out on kissing Phil.

He doesn’t move immediately. Phil stares at Dan’s face, maybe cataloguing him right back. It’s going to be their first kiss in a long time and it just might give Dan a full mental breakdown to feel that again. It just might hurt too much to realize they don’t really have each other back. Not for good.

But it feels amazing just to have this weight and warmth, he doesn’t know how he has managed without it and he just wants more. He wraps his arms one at a time around Phil’s neck and finally Phil is on his tongue.

It’s impossible to go slow, he hears Phil whine from the back of his throat and he holds him in what has to be close to a chokehold, freely licking his tongue and scrunching his eyebrows with his sudden  _ want. _

He hasn’t had any libido, no fun daydreams, it just doesn’t come with the depression and hopelessness each day, and it feels like he’s forgotten what this feels like. Dan pushes his hands up Phil’s layered shirts aggressively, finally reaching warm skin. 

Dan hooks a leg up around the back of Phil’s knee and then hitches his other as high as he can, up to Phil’s lower back, and Phil rubs against him, pressed so close he barely can. Phil sobs against his lips and it’s enough to make tears immediately roll down the sides of Dan’s face.

“God,” Dan sputters out, and just as fast as he had started, Phil slumps down.

“I cry so much—fuck.” Phil presses his nose right against Dan’s cheek and lays his head down.

“I never do.”

“I didn’t even want to ask about your mental health. I daydream about you being happy.”

“I daydream about us getting out of here, road-tripping and staying in nice hotels.”

Another sobbing noise, louder this time, less wet, more voice.

“I’m never leaving this bed,” Phil says, his voice a whine.

Dan sniffs back the snot threatening to run down his face. His face is soaked and it feels kind of good in an altogether too intense way.

“This feels so intense,” he tells Phil, breathing in and out. Phil just nods against him.

Dan feels something else. Hope, maybe. A feeling that maybe he has the ambition to do some good, now that he’s feeling this kind of way. Cornelia’s face glaring at him pops into his head. She looked crushed, really, and he hadn’t wanted to acknowledge such a thing.

He wants a life with Phil more than he’s wanted anything before.

“We have to do something,” Dan says without really thinking.

“What?” 

“Join the resistance, fight, end this.”

Phil’s head snaps up. “Dan.”

“I know I just sound like I watch too many movies,” he sniffs again. “but God, I can’t live like this anymore. We need to.”

Phil hugs him while they both cry and it feels like he’s never cried so much in his life, or felt such a physical pain from his emotions, it’s like he can feel his heart straining in his chest.

“I won’t let you. I just need you alive. Please, tell me you won’t do anything. Please, Dan, say it.”

Dan gasps in, trying to get air in his lungs.

“Please, please, please….” Phil trails off, putting his face back up against Dan’s wet neck.


	5. Overture iv.

Maybe he is wasting time by not talking or kissing or planning their escape to France but he feels too content just hugging Phil close. A feeling of peaceful sleepiness has come over him that he can barely remember, the kind where he  _ wants _ to dream and never leave these covers. Except right now he needs to stay conscious because Phil on top of him is the best dream he’s going to get.

So he blinks his eyes and runs his hands down Phil’s spine and arms. Phil kisses his neck every few moments and Dan smiles each time. 

Dan’s neck is wet from Phil’s tears but he has finally calmed by now, not making any of the noises that make Dan’s heart hurt. Phil is undeniably against Dan putting himself at risk but Dan is stubborn today.

His dream was always to live a content, quiet life with little pleasures but that isn’t possible without some work now.

A half-hour has to have passed of silence and Dan is beginning to suffer from his curiosity.

“Tell me about Corn and Martyn. What are they up to?” He whispers.

Phil twitches like he’s been awoken suddenly. He huffs out a sigh. “Martyn’s a bit easier. He does supply chain, just sits on the computer and looks at orders. He’s lost, like, all of his hair, I don’t know why he doesn’t shave the wispy bits off. I know he’s sad and stressed but he still just comforts me. I don’t know what I’d do if I couldn’t sit with him at lunch sometimes.” 

“And Corn?”

“Asks Martyn for the addresses of certain distributors and customers. She says she has info on who’s ready to resist, but it’s still a risk, right? He finds the orders that go to them and she puts notes in them. I don’t really know what they say, but she’s found all these women with professions that are...useful.”

“Like what?”

“Like...engineers.”

“To do what?”

“I don’t want to know.”

Dan lifts his head and touches between Phil’s eyebrows, the word  _ glabella  _ echoing in his mind, but this really isn’t a time to joke. He smooths out the wrinkles and Phil relaxes his face.

“Do you think she’s...okay?” Dan asks.

“I think she’s getting riskier and riskier. Mar does, too. It’s all she wants to talk about, she’s...angry. I think she’s forgetting what’s important. And  _ now _ , God, I don’t want to tell Martyn she’s in trouble. I don’t want to think about it.”

“She’s brave, we gotta be proud.”

“I want her safe.” Phil sounds too defeated to cry anymore. Dan nods.

“Tell me about you now.”

“Me? Like, my job?”   
  


“Everything,” Dan says. “What your days look like and everything you do.”

“It’s...probably boring. Well, everyone’s life is pretty boring. You wouldn’t believe the things I get excitement from. My cubicle is across from a window so I people watch all the time. I once saw a man with toilet paper on his shoe, I swear it was two feet long and the person behind him nearly stepped on it so many times. Absolutely thrilling. I also doodle on paper before shredding because the authorities never check on me in the morning. I wrote a comic that was literally, like, Buffy fanfiction with stick people but it really was fun. I think the guy across from me kept laughing at me, but not in a mean way, I just saw him smiling.”

“Don’t be finding a husky man to replace me,” Dan says. His voice is joking but he really does need a kind reply and Phil knows it.

“You don’t have to worry about Darryl over there he smells like tuna, all the time. Or any other men. You’re on my mind, constantly. Every time I wake up and every time I sleep I’m dreaming of you.”

Dan pulls Phil by the neck and kisses him, then follows up with big wet kisses on his cheeks that gives him the lovely noise of Phil giggling.

“Same,” he says.

“Good.” Phil smiles. “And I look for you, too. For tall men and curly hair.”

“Found me.”

“ _ You  _ found me. And I’m grateful to be here. Even though I want to strangle you.”

“Please do,” Dan says and laughs when hands reach up to his throat and gently shake him, Phil’s face staring down at him without even a hint of anger.

“What do you do?” Phil asks when he finally stops.

“I wreak havoc.”

“Of course you do.”

“I try to annoy the guards by dragging chairs and scuffing the floors and doing a lousy job at work.”

Phil drops his head. “ _ God,  _ you stress me out, but that is funny.”

“I’m amused. I keep my mouth shut otherwise, I’m not  _ dumb.  _ I also watch one of the labour fields when I walk home. They’re the ones that were singing.”

“It must be horrible in there, though. That physical labour.” Phil frowns.

“It gives me hope that in the worst of times, people can survive and find hints of happiness. Maybe it’s dumb, though. I don’t know what it’s like,” Dan says.

“No, you’re right. You’re totally right. Look at you, the grand optimist.”

“I’m fucking Gandhi now.”

“No, you’re Winnie the Pooh.” Phil follows the sentence with a kiss on Dan’s dimple and Dan doesn’t have any comeback, he just smiles up fondly.

“What is your job?” Dan asks.

Immediately he feels regret because Phil’s face falls. He’s not sure why.

“I’m sorry,” Dan starts. “I know it’s not as fun to talk about…”

“Can we not talk about it at all? I’m sorry, I edit stuff it’s just...horrible stuff.”

“Like what?”   
  
“Please?”

“Sorry, sorry, no I don’t need to know. You’re alright, yeah? Doodling and seeing Martyn?”

He nods, frowning deeply. “It’s still hard a lot, but I...y’know, appreciate the small things,” Phil whispers.

“I’ll save you the small dick joke in my head because you’re sad.”

Phil rolls his eyes. “You really can always cheer me up, thank God.”

“I will quite literally do anything to make you happy.” 

“Be safe,” Phil says.

“I will try.” 

“You  _ will, _ ” Phil rolls to the side off of him and Dan grasps his hips but Phil lets his dead weight sink into the bed so he won’t budge. He pouts rather dramatically.

“I’m not a dumb bitch, Phil, I’m not going to be going over my head, I just want to see if I can help.”

“I worry about you.”

“You worry about everything.” Dan strokes his hair and Phil leans into it.

“I hate it.”

“I do love you for it.”

“I wish I had—God, I wish I had more distraction in life.” And with that he rolls back up on Dan, forcing his legs between Dan’s and grinding down just like he had before but with more sureness. A hand gets into Dan’s pants and suddenly Phil is adjusting his dick and Dan is making a too loud  _ ohh  _ noise until Phil grinds down again and he’s speechless.

It’s been a long time, but he doesn’t even hesitate to reciprocate. He runs his hands everywhere, gets Phil’s pants down to just under his ass and his shirt up to his armpits but Phil isn’t budging anymore to remove it. At least now he can scratch until Phil twitches and Phil can do the same, maybe trying to scar so they can see it. 

His lips are bitten so hard he knows they’ll be swollen. Phil keeps a hand on him and grinds with purpose, making the bed creak in rhythm for a couple of minutes straight.

He kisses Phil as if he’s pushing his soul right into his mouth. He scrunches his eyes shut but opens them periodically to remind himself of Phil above him, boney and shakey and soft.

It helps to dig his uncut nails right into Phil’s shoulder blades as he tenses and comes embarrassingly soon with the fast gasping of Phil’s breath in his ear. He can feel Phil tremble and go stiff above him, putting so much weight on his chest he can’t breathe properly for a moment. A moment of pleasure he’s definitely needed, he thinks. God, why doesn’t he wank? Why isn’t he doing this all the time?

He knows the answer as he wraps his arms around a warm, panting Phil. It could never live up to the true happiness he gets from this. At least he can still feel true happiness. Definitely.

“I can’t believe you made me ruin one of the two pairs of pants I own,” Dan says, relishing in the laugh that even shakes him.

“Worth it,” Phil says with a sigh, rolling next to Dan again but staying close.

“Totally. God, I fucking miss you. I fucking — God, stay here all night.”

“You think I’d risk walking out after curfew? I’m going to smother you all night.” Phil snuggles up closer. The thought brings tears to Dan’s eyes.

“Good.”

“Except—I’m hungry. Feed me or I  _ will _ go berserk.”

“Oh,” Dan pauses. “Get ready for beans on toast, yay?”

Phil lifts his head. “You hate beans on toast.”

“It’s, uh, all I can afford.”

Phil’s face drops. “Oh.”

“I’m sorry, it’s not ideal—”

“No, I would eat dirt forever if I could stay here. Make me Dan’s special beans on toast, I’ll probably love it.”

Dan slowly rolls over him, frowning, and grabs his things. He opens the can with a dull knife and tries to keep all the crumbs on his plate because the bread is so stale. Why is he so embarrassed when he didn’t choose this life? He’s generous with the salt, pepper, and soy sauce, wondering if this strange creation is just going to make Phil sick. 

Phil does eat it, they sit cross-legged next to the wall and chow down on two slices each. Phil smiles up at him as Dan eats the ends of the bread so he doesn’t waste them. He’s beginning to feel depressed again and it hurts to think about his own mental health wasting this time they have. He has a feeling that Phil can tell.

“I’m sad to leave tomorrow but it’s weirdly bittersweet because it reminds me of the beginning. Leaving and craving you. My feelings were so intense. They  _ are  _ so intense.” Phil mumbles with his mouth full and uncomplaining. 

“Except we could see each other again,” Dan mutters.

“Next Sunday? I’ll wear these ghastly clothes to church? I’m a basic guy, I blend in.”

“You’re huge with an alien head and a beaked nose,” Dan mutters.

“I can’t tell if you’re talking about my face or my penis.”

And just like that, he’s laughing uncontrollably and for another long moment, he feels happy.

-

They drift in and out of sleep, but it’s a long night anyway in the dark under the sheets, sharing body heat as the fall night comes on cold, clothes finally discarded to be as close as can be. It’s dark and private and they share memories because hopes and dreams are a little bleak right now.

When Phil leaves at the last second, rambling nervously about the bathroom he’s going to change his clothes in, Dan has to wipe tears away. The door closes behind Phil and Dan spends the next few minutes trying to calm down.

One week. Once a week. He can live like that. He will take anything.


	6. Overture vi.

When he walks in, feeling a sort of post-Phil depression sink in to his bone, he’s shocked to see Cornelia. It doesn’t, at first, register through his exhaustion to make him excited or relieved before he just feels curious and slightly panicked.

But there it is, those red curls on the small frame that’s already working.

People crowding up behind him remind him to move and he grabs his tablet, but doesn’t grab a box and just goes to stand next to her.

“You okay?” he mouths.

“Yes,” she mouths back, flashing a sad smile only for a second. She walks on.

He pushes through his work even though today more than ever he just wants to lay in bed and forget about everything. It’s not like he’s ever been motivated but it feels harder when so much more is on his mind.

There’s so much agitation in his bones that he’s lined up right behind Cornelia for food. As the crowd comes up behind them she grabs his hand and squeezes and holds on a good thirty seconds and he relishes in her small hand, wanting more than anything to wrap her up. Why didn’t he hug his friends more before? Why didn’t he spend every second of his life holding hands with people?

They sit in the middle of the room and she hunches over. Her face twists up and a silent tear falls, but all he can do is watch with wide eyes.

“What did they do to you?” He asks, the noise of people walking a relief.

“Nothing.”

“You’re not….”

“I ratted someone out. I’m horrible.” She picks up a cheap napkin and wipes her nose.

“Oh no.”

“He wasn’t a great guy. He was really shitty, actually. Harassed my friend all the fucking time. But he didn’t commit a war crime, and they’re either going to arrest him or investigate and arrest me. I don’t know what’s worse.” Her voice is so soft he can barely hear.

“It would be worse to arrest you. Let me help you, again. You’re doing the right thing.”

She shakes her head. “I got too risky. I don’t know what I’m doing, really.”

Dan peeks behind them. Guards are nowhere near them, though Cornelia is clearly talking and upset. They must be lucky today.

“Tell me about...your friends.”

“We’re trying to help some people move younger women out of the country through international trade. Some executives are on our side. The ones with daughters in the system. They’re being groomed to...populate, with artificial insemination. They don’t get to keep the kids. The government is keeping it on the DL.”

“God...and that’s the resistance?”

“It’s just people doing what they can. There are others. Some bring black market stuff, some plant bombs, some traffic…”

“Oh,” Dan says.

“You can count on a lot of people for little stuff. Support, advice, food, but it’s impossible to assemble. It’s fucking—God, I’m so frustrated,” Her voice quivers and Dan presses his ankle into hers.

“I try to be strong, to be smart and brave and to think about the good we’ve done but we rely on people who have created this place and there are so many young girls we just can’t reach. It’s not  _ fair  _ and it hurts my heart.”

“It hurts my heart, too. Everyday,” Dan agrees.

“I used to think if everyone tried then things would get better. There’s so much else.”

“Yeah.”   
  
“We have it so much better than a lot of people, Dan. How do I live like this?”

He drops his head and sighs. The guards don’t walk near him.

-

She squeezes his hand before they walk out together but just as he leaves the room, a guard grabs his arm.

“This way.”

Cornelia gives him a panicked look and he gives one back but he still walks without a struggle down the hall and to an elevator. 

The guard sends them up higher than Dan has been before, one of the topmost buttons, and he feels the pressure in his head as they ascend. 

He’s dizzy and it’s probably not just from the elevator. It would be futile to ask where he’s going, he knows. They walk down the hall until the guard knocks on a door and swings it open.

“77645, sir.” 

It’s not a big desk. It’s framed by four shelves of filing cabinets, and a guard stands at one wall, looking tired. The man behind the desk is old, white, wearing a suit. He nods at the guard and the door behind Dan closes.

“Ah, yes.” He squints down at a sheet of paper. “Mr. Daniel J. Howell it was, right?”

Dan nods, his eye twitching at his name being used.

“Please, sit.” He rifles with paper while Dan shuffles around the chair. He scrapes it closer to the desk.

“I just want to make sure everything is well, to see if there are any correspondences you want to address to the executives.” He speaks like they’re acquaintances. It seems as though the man won’t even introduce himself to Dan.

He looks into the man’s eyes but doesn’t say anything.

“For example, we know you were connected to 54783, Mrs. Cornelia Dahlgren. Ahem, Miss, I suppose it was.  _ Dating _ the brother of a person you...worked with.” 

Dan just stares at him.

The man leans forward with his elbows on the desk. “How is Cornelia doing? Is she happy with her position here?”

“I suppose you could ask her,” Dan finally says. He breaks eye contact, feeling invaded by the red skin and pale blue irises. God, those huge, dark, eyebrows, too.

“Sometimes it’s nice to hear insight from a friend.” Mr. eyebrows smiles. 

Dan stares back.

“Well,” he sighs, “how about you? Are you happy with your position?”

Dan cocks his head to the side. A threat? A bribe?

The man taps the folder in front of him with the tip of his pointer finger. “You were quite successful. BBC Radio 1, stage shows, an...Internet following. A great portfolio, clearly you had a good advisor to have all those savings, that property in Islington,  _ three _ summer homes. Public speaking, activism, ah, not all of that was so...rational but I see you have adjusted well, spotless record for a year.”

Dan clenches his jaw, trying not to twitch.

“I wonder if perhaps it was wrong to place you in such a mundane task force. Of course, you dropped out of law school after those failed classes, but I can understand the calling of creativity and fulfillment quite well myself. The state does very much value creativity. A voice of insight. We are forgiving, the state lies on the fundamentals that God is within everyone, they just need to find their path. Would you agree?”

It seems as though the man is prepared to stare unblinking until he gets his affirmation. Dan whispers, “yes,” nodding once.

“You have done spectacular at your job but things have started to slip with the arrival of your new friend. Now, I can’t lie,” he chuckles, “she doesn’t have as spotless of a record. I imagine you’re quite worried for her. Maybe you feel indebted, but there’s no need. People lose their ways all the time. You care for her, yes?”

“...Yes.”

“Our state relies on its citizens, we do not resort to violence anymore, all the hardworking people present are valuable. It’s important that citizens help each other. When a person loses sight of what is important, they may be a danger to others and it becomes hard to help them. If Cornelia is at risk of a violent streak, we would like to help guide her  _ before  _ things go downhill, get her into a position she enjoys, an apartment she is comfortable in, with enough nutrition and vanity to make any woman happy.”

He chuckles and it sounds strange in the silence of the room. Dan squirms and wants nothing more to be out of here.

“So, any thoughts here?”

Dan clears his throat. “Cornelia is...good at her job. I like chatting to her. With her. I am...also happy here. I’m content, nothing has been awry.” 

Inside his head he screams at himself,  _ shut up shut up shut up.  _ The man stares at him with great interest.

“Really? Happy here? Packing boxes? I’d say you’re probably smart enough for a job at Leadenhall. It’s a lovely office building.”

Dan freezes. It really can’t be a coincidence, God, they  _ know.  _ They know that he knows it’s Phil’s office. The guy who he has probably read in Dan’s own file as sharing property and assets and common law tax benefits. _ _

So if he doesn’t comply, what will happen?

He works on keeping his face neutral but he can feel his eyes widening and jaw clenching anyway. No words come.

“How about you think on it. We’ll meet again. Week from today, how ‘bout?”

Mr. eyebrows stands, outstretches his hand, and Dan hesitantly meets the too-firm handshake. His arm shakes like jello.

The guard leads him out and he walks on stiff feet all the way back to his section where people are working, slowly shuffling around with tablets and boxes.

He decidedly avoids eye contact with Cornelia.

-

> Hello, Bear. I’m thinking we need cooler code names. Agent D? One day I’ll figure it out.
> 
> I had a dream last night that we were on tour again, and it felt so real even though that was ages ago! We were wearing red and white stripes and we were in Australia sitting outside in the forest, no house just woods, but we weren’t in a panic at all. It got pretty juicy but if a guard snatches this somehow, do I really want him to read about the dream sex we had? Maybe he will want to. It was a good one. (Think anniversary no. 10, those bites and scratches….)
> 
> Sometimes I go to bed early just with the hope of you being in my dreams. The nightmares come and go, and I really am quite content when they go. I hug a pillow, lay my head down on the mattress.
> 
> When the migraines get bad I try to massage my head like you do but it’s never the same! What is your secret? Why do you have magic hands?
> 
> I guess this letter is just about telling you that you’re still a comfort to me, and I hope you find comfort and peace day to day. Being next to you is the best, but I take what I can get. Maybe these letters will be yours. You always were very “words of affirmation” focused. Therefore, you are great. You fricking rock. I love you and you will always be the closest to a soulmate that I will ever find.
> 
> Love, big P.

The sheet was rolled up in a weird cylinder this week and out of it fell a little pencil, snapped in half to be the size of the ones at mini-golf.

God, even the thought of mini-golf reminds him of Phil, and he’s crying again. 

-

He’s walking down the Avenue the next day. At least part of his anxiety will lessen if he sees that Phil made it back home without trouble.

When he sees him up ahead, he first releases a big breath from his lungs. Then, he tries to control his expression as best he can. Phil stares at him with a creased forehead and Dan thinks Phil must see through him. Of course he does.

Then he has walked by and he won’t see Phil again for six days. He walks unnecessarily slowly because he’s late anyway. This officially means his card is going to get rejected at the dining hall. The penalty is no secret, so why try?

There are eyes on him, he can tell. Cornelia skirts around the sides of him and he doesn’t offer anything but the tiniest of glances. She knows something is up and now he can’t talk to her at lunch. He’s probably hurting her by keeping her in the dark.

He only hungers for Phil so he tells himself it’s okay when he stays as everyone files out for lunch, but there are hunger pains in his stomach already. There’s no point in finishing early because he can’t leave anyway. He builds boxes alone in the room. 

The guard stays near the door and tilts his head back with his eyes closed. Dan stares at him for a good two minutes, but he doesn’t open his eyes. Slowly, Dan kneels down and sits under the table, leaning against the wall until he hears a commotion in the hallway.

-

The next day, Dan has a note for Cornelia. If he were brave he would tell her about the meeting but he reckons it would be cruel to tell her when he doesn’t know what to do yet. Maybe he’s a horrible person for not knowing right away.

But he can relieve some of that scare of immorality by helping. He writes that the guard who’s always watching them didn’t pay attention to Dan at lunch hour. Dan can look through the tablets or the boxes. Then he tells her he hopes she’s well and he cares for her deeply because now he can write tiny with the pencil.

Thursday goes by slow and anxious without even a glance from her and he even thinks she may be mad at him, but on Friday she slides two notes in front of him just as he had done.

Dan works fast for once, too restless to slow. He tries to be patient when people start filing out but he’s just twitching and staring at the door. It doesn’t seem to matter, the guard leans his body against the wall. Maybe that’s a shitty job, too, just standing at the wall all day looking intimidating.

Dan sits on the floor to unravel the papers. The first, smaller one is ripped unevenly.

> Put other note into order with black pencil skirt L and red blouse L. I love you too, and your big heart.
> 
> C.

That stings more than it should right now. He winces and looks at the other note. It’s taped closed so he probably can’t open it. He scratches at the tape carefully with his nails, thinking that he should probably let it be, before finally ripping it open.

> Cargo plane leaves at 2:02am Tuesday morning, YXU terminal 32. Doula’s bringing women to east entrance of Karuna Manor at midnight. Enter through maintenance route of airport….

It’s all direction and instruction and Dan can barely believe this. Cornelia did this. Not alone, he’s sure, but people are  _ doing  _ this, coordinating, and Dan can barely believe that Cornelia is so demotivated being in the middle of this. This rich woman getting an expensive pencil skirt is helping them, obviously.

He shoves the sheets right into his underwear, really missing the days of pockets, and stands inconspicuously. The guard looks to be sleeping standing up.

He does it systematically, picking up the top left tablet and working left to right, down, left to right. The people he’s worked next to are faceless numbers to him, just peeling stickers at the top of the tablets.

He grabs each tablet and leans against the back wall, to ensure that if the guard suddenly opens his eyes, he’ll think #77625 over here is just looking through his own invoices lazily. That’s no crime, not at lunch hour. Unless he’s a sadist.

At the eight-minute mark of the lunch hour, he scrolls past a pencil skirt, before his eyes pop open and he scrolls back. Black pencil skirt L 11579 and red blouse L 12467

He works as casually as possible, finding the two items, folding them nicely, then folding a box and placing them in. After a minute of staring at the guard, he takes the note out of his pants and puts it between the two items.

The tape makes a satisfying noise as he tears it off and seals the lid, and then he searches for the sticker to the address. He places it on the cart that will be taken by the shipment team.

Dan starts thinking through the consequences only now, undoubtedly late, but maybe that’s a part of being brave. Or dumb.

He actually begins to work, too anxious to just waste time like he easily could. When he can hear footsteps in the hall, he watches the guard's eyes snap open.

Cornelia is one of the first to walk in and flash him a real smile. It warms his insides.

Nonetheless, he doesn’t think he’ll be calm until he gets to go home, and maybe not even then. He should have watched who picked up that tablet so he can stop nervously staring at everyone.

A man walks up to the guard eventually and speaks quietly holding a tablet. Dan tries not to pay any mind but that doesn’t work well, especially when the same man he talked to on Monday walks in. The man with those bloody eyebrows.

“56871,” he says, his voice carrying. God, why didn’t Dan look at the number on the tablet?

The same man that talked to the guard shuffles over and Dan moves to a box close to them.

“—sticker was missing. I’m sure it was just a mistake.”

“Well, the report here says it’s been checked into shipment already,” the man says. 

“Oh….”

“Do you think there’s been some kind of...mix up? Some funny business?”

“Oh, no….” The man closes his eyes and puts up a hand to his forehead.

“We can absolutely look into it—”

“Ah, darnit...my memory slipped again. I did it before lunch, I remember now. I—y’know, it runs in my family...I’m getting older….” Dan’s eyes widen.

“Hmmph. There may be better jobs for someone so...daft. I can easily place you somewhere you’ll be more suited to.”

“No, sir, I promise it won’t happen again. I barely slept, I’m all confused, I will surely rest better today. Sorry, sir, to bother you, sir…. It’s complete.”

Mr. eyebrows stares at him for uncomfortably long. He then takes a metal pen out of his pocket and writes on the tablet, still facing the man who shifts and slouches nervously.

It’s hard to watch and when he looks up, Dan inadvertently makes direct eye contact. He holds his eyes forward, trying to look inconspicuous. Or does he look like he’s challenging Mr. eyebrows now? God, if he would just say something….

“You. Walk with me,” he smiles but it doesn’t reach his eyes. Dan can’t really imagine this guy smiling with his eyes.

On stiff legs, Dan walks forward. He falls in line with him but the man walks fast and Dan lets him until he’s just a step behind. If he’s learned anything in life, it’s not to challenge the bullies.

It looks as though they’re walking to his office again and Dan gets a consuming sense of dread, he hasn’t made a choice yet, he’s quite purposefully pushed it right out of his mind. Choosing not to move close to Phil and choosing to rat out Cornelia is just too horrible to consider.

Except they keep walking and turn into a lounge, where Dan is shocked to see, no guards come in with them.

It’s the nicest room he’s seen in a while. Black leather couches and a big TV and a fancy Keurig next to, oh God, a buffet set up in the corner. Like the best fucking staff lounge there has ever been.

“I see you’ve been tardy, but we can’t work well on an empty stomach, hey? Especially big guys like us. I’ve already eaten, but please, help yourself before the cleaners come.” Dan stands still. “Plates on the right side over there, grab a coffee, too, we have a great roast from Ethiopia.”

Mr. eyebrows falls back on one of the leather couches, spreading an arm across the back and picking up a remote. Dan stares as he inches towards the food that he can smell quite strongly, and sees as the TV switches on to twelve images, different views from security cameras. He whips his head back and just grabs a plate.

Roast chicken, rice and veggies in soy sauce, macaroni salad, scalloped potatoes, some real salad with fresh tomatoes and, God, even brownies. It’s no Dominoes, but Dan’s mouth waters and his stomach suddenly aches. 

What are the consequences of eating this food that the cleaners are going to throw away? It’s a bribe, obviously, but Dan isn’t  _ that  _ easy. He wonders if that’s true as he stacks the food high on his plate, more than he’ll ever be able to eat. He brews coffee, too, sees it drip down into a plain coffee cup and waft a lovely aroma up at him. He doesn’t even grab cream or sugar, he delights in the first sip of strong, bitter coffee and then awkwardly shuffles to the couch perpendicular to Mr. eyebrows, sitting with the plate on his lap.

Dan doesn’t even get a glance from this guy, so he turns and watches the screen, too. He shoves food into his mouth, hoping that the faster he eats, the more he’ll be able to cram into his stomach.

Eventually, he finds the couple of cameras for his division of clothing, and there Cornelia is, along with a few other familiar faces. It’s interesting to watch for a few minutes, shoving his face. Really, it’s just a sense of comfort to mindlessly look at a screen and eat good food. This is all he did before.

Just as he’s trying to force the last few bites of food down, he hears the sound of a button click and he sees a bunch of different camera angles in a much nicer office, people sitting at cubicles and desks. He can see out the windows, it looks much higher up than his ground-floor space, is that higher up in this building? Then, he spots the top right camera just as another button is pressed and the one square inflates until Phil takes up the whole screen.

Dan’s mouth drops open. If he was at all unsure before, now it’s clear that his and Phil’s relationship is no secret.

“He’s a good worker. Very trustworthy. Many great articles have been published under his guidance. Very good writer.” The man nods approvingly.

Dan looks puzzlingly at the screen. Phil is in a suit typing away at a desktop computer, hunched over with horrendous posture.

“Handsome, I suppose,” Mr. eyebrows chuckles and it sounds cruel to Dan’s ears.

“He’s a….” Dan looks up at him.

“Oh, you don’t know? A writer for the Sun. A journalist.”

“Oh.”

“They’re looking for some recommendations for a new column being made soon, media. About approved films and books to be released. What do you think?” 

Dan takes a sip of his coffee. “It sounds like more dystopian bullshit.”

The man grunts and doesn’t look at all amused. “Is it a debate you’re looking for? To get out all this anger you have about the world?”

“I don’t need to debate.”

“Well then, I suggest you reconsider in your own time and think about where the world was going before the State intervened.” He stares back at the screen, an air of confidence about him so strong that Dan can only huff out his breath and clench his teeth. He  _ cannot  _ fight with a man who could put him in jail.

Except he obviously needs something from Dan. He’s scared of Cornelia, or what Cornelia is doing with those women, and the State is obviously in the dark. What will he do to get that information?

“I assume you can find your way back to your post by now? Leave your dishes on the metal cart back there. I expect some clarity from you by Monday.” 

Dan stands, puts his half-eaten plate down, and walks out alone. He walks slowly through the empty hallway.

He smacks his head with the base of his palm. “Idiot, fucking hell,” he mutters. His limbs jitter from the coffee and the confrontation.

-

> Hey, Big P. God, I can’t take that seriously.
> 
> With this pencil I hope you know you’re going to get essays from me. I hope you’ve enjoyed the past year of silence. Sorry, that’s like, a dumb marriage joke, an attempt to lighten the mood, I guess. Bring me an eraser next time please. I say too much dumb shit.
> 
> Do you remember talking about The Resistance when we met? I always liked Muse but I should admit now, I never liked it as much as I claimed when I met you. Then that album just fucking took my heart. I can almost hear the music in my head sometimes. At night I try to remember parts and I get so riled up. Is it weird to be comforted that this shit was kind of predicted?
> 
> _ Time the fat cats have a heart attack. Rise up and make our souls unite _ . That’s not it, shit.  _ Open your third eye... _
> 
> You always just liked the music, and the way it made you feel invincible. I liked the lyrics more. I can still only remember bits. I can’t believe I ever forgot. _ Hope that we will never see the truth…  _ I wish I could fucking remember. Now that guitar in Unnatural Selection, I get that in my head. 
> 
> Maybe it’s just me self-inserting but it really does seem like it describes everything in my life right now. Matt Bellamy has my soul.
> 
> I can’t remember Exogenesis and that shit hurts. I beg of you, try to remember and sing it to me. Any of them. It sounded like space and hope and mystery. It made me feel alive, like I would never be numb again. Sometimes it felt like my life only started that year.
> 
> _ Love is our resistance _ , that’s an easy one. I do want to escape with you, go to space and just be alone.
> 
> I don’t know what to do right now. Fuck, everything is so hard and I need you. I need you so fucking bad and I don’t know if I can do it.
> 
>   
_ Reponds la ma tendresse _ (?), how do I remember that? _ Ahhh verse moi l’ivresse. Travelled half the world to say, I belong to you. _ Please, tell me you remember.


	7. Cross-Pollination i.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again, so so much, to obsessivelymoody for being my beta and helping me to feel confident about this. 
> 
> I hope you all enjoy this second part. Kisses to daddy Marx who I hope is proud of me.

Down the hall, Dan comes across a janitor. It was on purpose that he walked a little further with no escort but he obviously isn’t aware of the cleaning schedule and now he’s blocked by a slick, polished floor and a janitor who stares at him without any answers.

After looking down at the floor for a way Dan could possibly pass by without ruining what he’s just cleaned, he finally shrugs. He leans against the mop with shoulders that hunch until the ball of his spine is almost a 90-degree angle to his neck. The coarse hair on his head and jaw are nearly white and his skin an ashy black.

Dan doesn’t know why he stares at the man for so long. He’s probably lost a lot of social skills from the limited genuine human interaction he gets each day, but the thing is, this man doesn’t even look uncomfortable. He holds Dan’s eyes easily.

Eventually, Dan turns on his feet and walks back the way he came. He turns away from the elevator and into a stairwell. He drops his feet heavily onto each step. The sound echoes and a bit of dirt crunches under his toe. 

He peeks up at a sign and sees he’s still on floor seven. This is the perfect opportunity to be alone for a minute. At the next step, he squats his ass down.

If he had to guess, he’s probably not all that important, not enough to go chasing after when he doesn’t show up to a meeting. It’s his official answer, really. His refusal to speak. These people can’t make him speak.

Well, maybe they could. He doesn’t really want to imagine the possibility of some interrogation room with torture instruments. 

He’s sad to say that Phil didn’t help. They talk about everything, help each other with everything. It just usually takes Dan more time, more wallowing and more reading and more thinking while he lays his body somewhere satisfyingly uncomfortable. 

That’s when Phil would bring him water and food, put on the comedy shows that Dan doesn’t need to pay attention to and rub his neck at the end of the night. Only after that is when Dan can release all his thoughts like a balloon bursting open. That’s the night they usually have sex and Dan reminds himself of the things that make him happy and he finally manages to vocalize his new enlightenment or conflict and gain some semblance of peace.

Last night he could barely speak. In church, Dan hoped it wouldn’t be noticeable amidst the secrecy they try to keep anyway, but Phil twitched nervously next to him, his knee bouncing, eyes constantly wandering to Dan’s face.

Are they this attuned to each other, so deeply connected, that they feel emotions as one without even speaking a word?

Phil came in his orange jumpsuit and went straight to Dan’s once church finished. Dan walked slowly to meet him.

“This is a bad day?” Is the first thing he said.

“Yeah.” 

“Does it happen a lot?”

“Not really.”

“What can I do?”

“No, just want to lay down.”

“Then come here.”

Dan can tell himself the sleep was worth it. After spending most nights in a strange half-awake dream state, it was an indulgence to feel safe enough to drift off completely. He still woke up periodically, when panic would settle in, until warm skin pulled him closer. His head settled in just above Phil’s shoulder, then on his chest where it’s softer near his armpit, then he’d turn around and pull arms around his torso. He’d wake again to turn back, feeling far too distant, and press his face to Phil’s neck, wiping the moisture from his mouth, and wrap a leg around a boney hip and grunt every time arms squeezed him.

The time-sensitive nature of his decision didn’t warrant the long slumber, nor did it warrant waking up and pulling Phil’s hands down to his crotch, and later on, his mouth. 

It was after that, amidst the sudden panic of time running out, that Dan blurted out what was really on his mind. The nature of the bribe or threat that a clearly powerful executive brought to him, the knowledge that his relationship with both Cornelia and Phil are known. Who knows what else.

“ _ Dan, _ ” Phil whispered. 

Dan continued to speak, completely unable to stop, recounting the conversations in detail, all while Phil lowered his head into his hands. When Dan finally stopped to breathe, Phil raised his red face.

“Well you’re not going to rat out Cornelia,” he said.

“I wasn’t going to, God, I would never. You think I would?”

“No, no…. Just, I see how this is...complex.” Phil looked exhausted despite their extended stupor.

“Exactly. I see it going one of three ways. First, I refuse to give any information and I get in trouble. Second, I lie and get in trouble, either by not making it believable or by them finding out after the fact. Third, I rat Cornelia out and they discard me anyway because I’m nothing more than a fucking pawn.”

“Fuck, Dan, I’m going to be late to work.”

“You need to tell me what to do!” Dan didn’t even care about the whine in his own voice. He didn’t care that this volume was going to travel through walls. His chin quivered.

“God, I don’t know. I don’t have time to think! Just...feign innocence!”

Phil stood and Dan moved forward before realizing two people caught on camera together would be cause for a security breach. He huddled back in the place he assumes to be out of camera shot.

“Please, stay.”

“I can’t be late, Dan.” He reached for the handle, looking desperate.

“There’s no penalty for the first two times, soldiers won’t look for you until mid-afternoon, you must know  _ I  _ would know that by now. Please,” Dan’s voice choked on the last word, but finally it got Phil running back into bed with arms around him.

Phil rocked him and rubbed at the back of his neck while Dan counted his breaths. 

In, one, two, three four, five, six, seven; hold, one, two, three, four; release. 

“Shh, okay, okay….” Phil muttered.

He’s not sure how many minutes passed but he managed to stave off the tears that were once imminent, then racked his brain for something useful to say.

“I’m sorry,” Phil whispered first. “You know I’m here for you. I’m just scared that getting in trouble would make it so I can’t see you at all.”

Dan just nodded. He can’t get it out of his head that maybe the State knows of this affair. It just might be too late. Depending on what Dan says today.

He grabbed onto Phil’s hands, massaging at his palms for something to do. “You think I should just feign innocence? Not lie?”

Phil nodded. “It seems the easiest, they must be grasping for evidence if they’re blackmailing you, right?”

“Maybe. But what if it’s a test, for me?”

“You’re not involved in anything, that would be unjustified.”

“The State hasn’t particularly been fair in its convictions.”

“Yeah,” Phil sighed, clenching his teeth. His knees shook.

“I will figure it out, then come and see you on the street tomorrow to show that I’m okay. Go, get to work.” 

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. I’ll figure it out.”

Phil yanked him forward into a hug.

“I’m on your side no matter what you do,” Phil whispered. His shoulders trembled slightly against Dan. 

Then, he hopped up and nearly ran out the door.

Amidst a decision too hard to face on his own, Dan wishes more than ever that he didn’t put things off like this. 

The minute the door closed, a sense of dread so strong it choked Dan stole his breath. A meeting with a powerful man to which he had no plan of what to say. Maybe if he hadn’t pushed the thoughts out of his head for the last week, he could have analyzed all his options better.

Dan leans back, feeling the steps dig into his spine. The pants wedgie up on his balls and he ungracefully rolls down to the flat platform. Self-pitying tears fill his eyes.

Eventually, he pushes himself up. He walks down all seven flights of stairs until the joints in his knees are aching and his breath is a little heavier. He walks back to the large room he works in and gathers up his tablet in his arms. The guard who sent him the invitation upstairs watches him with curiosity.

Cornelia has a box propped against her hip and Dan goes and grabs it. She gives him a questioning look but lets Dan hold her box. Slowly, she puts a shirt inside and peeks back at the guard.

“They asked about you, bribed me with Phil so I would tell them what you’re up to.” He takes a quick breath in. “They know about Phil, and you, and I don’t know what’s going to happen to me, I’m really fucking struggling—”

“Hey, what are you guys doing over there? No talking on the job.”

“But I didn’t say anything, obviously, I didn’t even go—”

“Dan,” she whispers, grabbing the box that Dan is tightly gripping. He doesn’t even notice the tablet fall out of his grasp, hitting the ground with a loud clatter. He looks down to see cracks spread across the screen.

“I have an, uh, unstable employee here, packaging room two.”

Dan looks up to the guard. He’s really quite young. “I’m fine,” Dan says.

“There has been...damage to equipment, bothering another employee.” He speaks into a tablet.

Dan looks around to the rest of the room. A lot of middle age people stare at him. They have all stopped working.

Cornelia bends down to drop her box and then tugs on Dan’s shoulder. He leans over and she cups his ear, beginning to whisper rapidly. He tries to listen to her over the continuing voice of the guard.

“I want to request, uh, backup to make sure this doesn’t escalate to violence.” Dan watches the guard peer around the room, looking rather unsure what to do.

He looks almost nervous.

A voice comes through the speaker on the tablet but Dan cannot focus on it with Cornelia’s voice in his ear.

“I love you and you got this,” she whispers.

“I love you, too.” Dan squeezes her arm and then backs away, sidestepping around the guard who looks unsure of what to do. He’s half a foot shorter than Dan and obviously intimidated. The idea is staggering, that Dan might be acting crazy enough to be intimidating and warrant backup. He puts his hands up, palms shown, which feels stupid but seems appropriate.

“I have information to tell the director guy, uh, I just need to head to the office upstairs, again, you could...escort me this time if that’s better.”

The man watches him for a minute, then turns around and speaks quieter, though Dan can still make out some words.

“...do I let him come up?”

Dan peers around and makes eye contact with a few people that he’s barely glanced at before. He sees the short man who covered for him without even knowing Dan. Dan offers the slightest smile without really meaning to. Everyone seems confused. Dan thinks he would be, too.

“Alright, I will escort you.” The guard beckons Dan to walk first. He does, awkwardly and stiffly, looking over his shoulder at Cornelia.

Another guard hustles down the hall and joins the other guard in their walk. What a concept, two guards escorting Dan. He doesn’t even want to play the part. He almost wants to tell them, no, I’m a pacifist, I’m just trying to survive!

He hopes his confidence doesn’t dwindle completely by the time he makes it to the office, right now he has just enough adrenaline to do this.

He follows the guards into the elevator, standing in front of them to stare at the door. The two men talk in low voices.

“Is it true, Jer’s being transferred?”

“Yeah.”

“Damn. I liked him.”

“Yeah.”

“Do you know why?”

The guard from his room doesn’t reply vocally.

“Weird. It seemed like punishment. Being called out of the room like that, reminds me of bloody school, right?” He laughs shortly.

They all walk out of the library and turn silent again. Dan feels the strangest vibe to hear such a normal conversation, a mention of time  _ before.  _ How young are these guys?

He’s at the office far too soon with the scary knowledge that he is putting his life on the line and even worse, his friend’s life on the line.

The guard pushes open the door for him and Dan steps in, peering back at the two guards before stepping in. They can’t be much older than 20, he thinks.

“Why, hello. You’ve caught me in the middle of working. I believe I requested you, oh just about thirty minutes ago?” The man tilts his chin up.

“I do apologize, I felt nervous about the information I’m about to share, but I believe it is best to make known.”

The man perks up, straightening his back.

“Please, sit.”

“Thank you.”

“I’m happy with your decision, and I hope you know we extend safety and security to those who put their trust in the State.” He smiles grimly.

Dan huffs some air out of his nose, amused at the courtesy he’s suddenly given. He waits for him to say more but the man just waits for him. No messing around, Dan supposes.

“I know Cornelia doesn’t have a part in this...but she’s been told some stuff...by friends, I guess….” 

“Yes….”

“There are meetings on Wednesdays at midnight at an empty McDonald’s, 1st street.”

“What is the nature of these meetings?”   
  
“Women’s liberation,” Dan blurts out.

“Uh-huh. Typical. Why would you be invited, then?”

“Queer liberation is so closely related.”

The man coughs. He writes on a piece of paper.

“Me and Cornelia discussed going...but decided the nature of such activism is too violent.”

“I very much agree. Founded on hypocritical assumptions since the beginning.”

Dan clenches his teeth and nods.

“You really do doubt my intelligence? Do you think I did not look into your past ‘activism’?”

Dan tilts his head, feeling a wave of cold on the sweat lining his forehead. The man opens a folder.

“Vocally supporting Antifa, implying that violence against ‘oppressors’ is not the same. You were against Brexit and pro-open borders, really no consideration for the safety of your neighbours, does it really feel viable to you to claim such innocence?”

Dan feels his teeth grind together and cringes at the noise. “Things had been escalating.”

“Yes. On one side in particular.” He closes the folder. “This violence we see across humans is the best case for a government such as our own, with the experts in charge for once. Citizens are rash and ignorant. It’s about time to lose these silly notions of harmony and welfare.”

“Fine. I’m hoping for mercy,” Dan says.

“Alright. Off you go, then.”

Dan twitches to move, so complacent in the directions, but pauses and opens his mouth. Nothing comes out, he doesn’t know what to say.

“Any transfers will be considered after verifiability.”

Dan stands up and shoves the chair in a little bit too roughly, then walks out of the office.


	8. Cross-Pollination ii.

Once home, he finally gets to read the note Phil left from yesterday. So innocent, so kind, the only thing that can get this anxiety and confusion under control while he sweats in bed.

> Dear Bear,
> 
> I wanted to tell you a story from last Christmas. I was really sad, obviously. I’ve never had to spend Christmas without Mum and Dad and I can’t get it out of my head that they’re ageing. I don’t know how they’ll be when I finally see them again. I don’t know if Dad is still in remission.
> 
> Sorry, I promise this story is happy/funny. Basically, Martyn managed to get some chocolate through someone Cornelia knows for my xmas gift. I can’t believe chocolate is in the black market, isn’t that hilarious??? Anyway, he put it in his back pocket to bring it at lunch, wearing these light khakis. He forgot for a moment and sat down at the table, after walking through the warm buffet….. I’m sure you can imagine the big brown mess RIGHT on his butt. It hurt trying not to laugh. Then I ate the butt squished chocolate. Delicious, like some melted fondu.
> 
> Ugh, what I wouldn’t do to sit down with you and have our Dominoes pizza with some nugs and some warm cookies. I’d choose to watch some Buffy for ultimate comfort but I’d take anything right now, like watching Speed again and mimicking the stupid quotes with you. I liked it when you let me lay right on you even though you overheated too fast. When we’re back home I’m gonna cling like I’ve never clung before.
> 
> I love you too and I’ll never ever stop, we’ll be a family again one day and have Christmas together and comfortable nights-in every single night for the rest of time as robot replicas with our souls intact. Imagine our crazy robot sex!
> 
> Don’t forget you’re the best person in the world.
> 
> PS: Here’s a picture I drew of Norman, what a man: 

The tears don’t come until he really looks at the doodle of the fish, shaded in messily with blue pen. Once the tears start, they don’t stop until he’s cried out a waterfall for all the loss and stress he’s dealt with thus far. It wears him down into a restless sleep, tossing and turning and worrying.

When the next morning finally comes, out the end of a blur of dreams and thoughts, he walks down Gracechurch Street, eyes darting around. 

He meets Phil’s red-rimmed wide eyes immediately. Phil lets out a big breath that visibly deflates his chest. When they grow closer, Dan reaches out his arm and runs his fingers along the back of Phil’s hand.

No one around them says anything. Dan can stand a little straighter.

-

When he sits next to Cornelia at lunch, the guards seem to be ignoring them again. Dan has to say, he’s enjoying the temporary privileges.

His card was declined, so obviously waving his lateness penalty isn’t a privilege he gets today. Maybe they want him weak. He stares at Cornelia’s plate with a rumbling stomach.

“How are you?” He asks.

“I’m alright, feeling good today. Nervous.” She leans on her elbow and smiles.

“I told him about the meeting place. Is it real? What’s going to happen?”

“We always have a backup place, they question a lot of us. Most shops are just empty, too small to have a guarded labour force. We choose one that’s relatively abandoned, and it’s easy to take them by surprise.”

“By surprise?”

“Some people possess weapons.” She frowns.

“But...that’s the guards who will go, not Statesmen, right?”

“Right.”

“A lot of them are just victims of the state, too.”

“Don’t go all ‘not all men’ on me, Dan.” She tilts her head at him.

“No, no, you’re right.”

“I don’t doubt that some continue to resist the State but too many are using their powers for kinds of abuse that I don’t want to think about. So. I support it,” she says, shrugging hesitantly.

He nods. He got a hint of the sadism that day he didn’t show up to work. He’s seen that brand of masculinity all his life. 

Nonetheless, he remembers how naive the guard of their room was, how he seemed like just another kid talking to his friend. 

His brother, too. The right age and definitely the right physical specs to be a soldier right now. Adrian was always too sensitive to be violent. Surely he could resist the propaganda. 

He tells Cornelia as much. “I’ve always assumed my brother is a soldier.”

She looks at him sympathetically.

“I hope he’s a good one.” Dan says.

“If he’s like you, he is.”

Dan nods. He looks down at her plate and quickly nabs a single kernel of corn, popping it in his mouth with a playful smirk. She smiles back endearingly.

“I’ve always known that violence is part of a revolution, I just don’t know if I can stand it face to face,” Dan mumbles. “I mean, I wouldn’t even know how.”

“You think I could take on some soldier? There are lots of jobs. Intelligence, communication, recruitment. There’s power in numbers. In fact, there’s something in the works. A labour strike.”

Dan cringes immediately. 

“I know, I know, but it failed before because no one was showing up. There’s so much shit labour that we can get the majority of people to protest for themselves. They can’t arrest everyone.”

“How will you get the majority of people?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t start this. Manual labour people did.”

“Oh. Well okay.” He bites down on his lip.

“I’m gonna tell you what Mia told me. She said don’t show up to feel good about yourself or to be some white saviour, only show up if you’re ready to demand change. We know it’ll be messy.” 

“I wouldn’t—okay, I’ll think about it.”

“But we can at least try to get the word out, as hush-hush as possible, though I’m sure it’ll get out anyway. Westminster, obviously, but hopefully there will be others around London, spreading out the guards. November 1st.”

“I don’t have any clue what day it is.”

“It’s October 18th, Dan.”

“Oh.” He coughs, “I can do that. Talk.”

She smiles and nods, “Me too.”

“Tell me about your friends.”

He listens to her mumble quietly, listing off the people she’s met, but Dan zones out just a little bit. Suddenly he’s forced to recognize the days going by again, so fast that an important day for him and Phil is going to pass by tomorrow. Maybe he will walk down Gracechurch street again, look in Phil’s eyes as a gift, and just never get lunch privileges again.

Maybe there’s a couple of people out there who will see the date and be reminded of watching him and Phil. It’s rather likely, he remembers the tweets he would get on the public anniversaries. It’s especially strange to think about now that he’s not living all that lavish, he’s reduced to nothingness. He wasn’t complicit to the politics, and now he has no power anymore. He could have. Maybe he should have.

He wonders if anyone passed his sunken, pale face on the street and remembered him. Maybe he’s not recognizable. Maybe he wasn’t all that big a part of anyone’s life as it sometimes seemed. 

It’s too big of a group to wonder how they are. Some people might be in another country rewatching his videos, wondering how  _ he  _ is amidst the disappearing English networks. Some are probably among him. Some are probably dead.

He’s positive that they all got a taste of the bad sides of the Internet. The conspiracies, bullying, harassment, doxes, threats.... It was hard to log onto any social media anymore. He didn’t want to debate anymore. How did it get so bad? Who were those people?

Dan nods along to Cornelia but she goes silent eventually and rubs his back for a moment. He must be wearing his heart on his sleeve.

“Have you managed to see Phil?” She asks, and he smiles at the topic that she knows will cheer him up.

“I got him into my apartment,” he whispers. Her mouth drops open.

“You sneaky bastard.” Her voice drops to a whisper, “I did too.” She smiles smugly.

“Ooh, we’re bad,” he says in a deep voice that makes her giggle. He notices people around him watching but the guards, on orders he assumes, don’t bother them. Dan’s face flushes with happiness. 

“It was too easy, huh?”

“Yeah. And Phil and Martyn are not easy to hide.”

She snorts. “I’m surprised Phil didn’t make a ruckus.”

“We did. I mean, he...did.” His face goes a little pink and she laughs down into the crook of her arm to muffle the noise.

He has to stifle his own laughter which only makes his face turn redder.

When she lifts her head, she breathes out a shaky breath to compose herself.

“I’m glad you had fun at least,” she says, and he shushes her.

“Y’know, rumour is they tried to get cameras with automatic face detection but they don’t have the engineers to do it,” she says.

“The fuckers.”

“Yeah. I like to think the engineers just refused.”

“They’d fucking better have.” 

“But they still found enough workers to build all these tablets, to encrypt everything. I think it’s that particular brand of man, the nerdy kind who found their way on Reddit and 4Chan and fell into all that shit. You know the type.” She grimaces.

Dan frowns. “Yeah, I know the type.”

“Maybe the world moved on without them. You know, before. They never felt like they belonged.”

“I don’t think they do belong,” Dan mutters.

“No. But maybe things would have been better.”

  
“Things would have. The New Atheists, the incels, the white supremacists, the fucking neo-Nazi’s, they found a higher power. I read their stuff sometimes. I felt like I needed to know.”

She looks worriedly back at him and he hopes he hasn’t ruined the mood too much. It ruined his own sanity, before.

“Perfect population for soldiers and engineers. Did they create this?” she mutters.

Dan shrugs. 

“I think I’d like to march. I’ve lost too much of my life in this shithole,” he says.

“I hear a lot of shit behind the scenes. There’s so many weaknesses, like, in the system,” she whispers. “We must keep hope.” She squeezes his hand once.

“I hope, oh I hope,” he says and steals another piece of corn from her plate.

“And Dan? If anything happens with security again, let me know right away. I’m here for you,” she keeps her hand on his and squeezes.

-

The next day, he does walk by Phil. Maybe he’ll do it every day. Especially if there’s a fair chance he’ll be arrested in the coming days.

It’s October 19th, anyway. He needs to.

This time, he reaches out and squeezes Phil’s hand for a split second, meeting his nervous, deer-in-the-headlights eyes. He smiles smugly, walking on. 

Every last breath is knocked out of his lungs when something hits him between the shoulder blades. It feels like a car has hit him, or like Thor’s hammer has come full swinging and broke his back in two, but he looks up from the ground he’s suddenly on and it’s just a soldier holding a police baton. The young man smiles wickedly.

“Thank you for stopping so I can collect your number for deviation. 7-7-6-4-5.” He taps on a tablet and Dan coughs violently, trying desperately to get his lungs to work again.

“ _ Hey!  _ Move the fuck on unless you want a knock, too!” The soldier yells behind Dan and it makes a rush of energy go through Dan, enough to whip his head back and nod his head at Phil. Phil, who’s stopped and staring desperately at Dan with tears in his eyes. He nods frantically, trying to tell him with his eyes to  _ leave now. _

He does, skipping forward while looking backwards and the soldier doesn’t follow, though he pretends to lurch forward, making even Dan jump.

“Get going,” he says.

Dan rises to his feet, struggling, and trying not to listen to what the man is muttering under his breath. It’s not much of a mystery, anyway. He walks quickly, gasping in air and hunching his back in pain.

So young, yet so angry. Tears come to Dan’s eyes and he holds his arms crossed in front of him while he speed walks. His back aches like a bitch and his lungs feel like they’ve withered within him.

“Fucking,  _ fuck _ ,” he mutters under his breath as he keeps walking, his head forward and down. 

He was supposed to never get beat down like that again. He was supposed to be safe in life. It took a long time to feel safe. Tears run down his face. Maybe Phil is rubbing off on him, with all this crying. It wouldn’t be so bad if Phil hadn’t seen it. God, he wishes Phil never had to even know.

He walks into his workplace, late and alone, even though it’s the last thing he wants to do. He’d much rather curl up on the cement pavement.

It’s a comfort that Cornelia looks up at his eyes and pained frame with sympathy and confusion. It’s the only comfort he will get right now.

-

He tells her what happened at lunch, his head hanging.

“Oh, Dan. I don’t want to patronize you, but—”

“I know, I know,” he snaps. “I shouldn’t be doing shit like that and I won’t anymore.”

Cornelia looks at him with wide eyes, turning her body into his.

“It’s our anniversary, kind of,” he whispers.

“Oh, Dan,” she says again.

Dan knows she’s being genuine, but it doesn’t make the pity any better. He’s starving and his back hurts so much he’s starting to worry he needs something popped back into place and he’s upset and not in the mood for anything.

In the nicest voice he can muster, he turns to her and says, “I’m going to go back early, just sit alone for a bit.”

She nods understandingly, patting his arm, and he crawls over the bench slowly to not trigger his back pain.

Dan walks back slowly. When he passes the young guard who stands at their door, his eyes pop open and he jumps at Dan’s sudden presence. He stands straighter but relaxes when he recognizes Dan.

“Shit, sorry,” Dan says.

“S’alright,” he mutters.

“Must be tiring just standing all day, looks boring as hell. Even worse than packing clothes orders for hours.” Dan doesn’t know why he rambles on all of a sudden, but he looks at the guard expectantly for an answer.

“Yeah.” He looks at Dan confusedly, glancing out the doorway once. His blond hair is a little greasy and he has some acne on his chin, but otherwise, he could be attractive, like one of those football guys from school.

“Also, sorry about the other day. I was panicking a bit, but I promise I’m a nice guy, wouldn’t hurt a fly,” Dan says.

The man smiles so Dan continues on, “I’m Dan, by the way.”   
  


“Uh. I’m James.”

“James is my middle name.”

“Dan isn’t my middle name, unfortunately.”

Dan snorts and nods his head at him. He turns back to walk to the other wall. He cringes slightly. He’s not the guy to do a chill head nod, he never has been. But it has been a long while since he’s tried to make a friend.

To follow up to his cool-guy persona, he sits on a table, leaning against the wall. It’s nice to give his back the break. James eventually closes his eyes again and they sit in silence until people begin filing in from lunch.

It’s a long day. He goes to the bathroom a couple times and pulls his shirt up to check out the discolouration on his back and sit for a minute on the counter, swinging his legs. He rubs his armpits with some hand soap and water because he’s starting to smell, hygiene hasn’t been much of a thought for a long time. He lifts up his lips and scratches at the plaque on his teeth in the mirror. 

On his walk home, he stares through the fence at the manual workers. Are they all preparing for the march? Are they preparing to fight? To endure jail? To die?

On a far building he sees it, in white graffiti. Or maybe it’s just chalk.  _ NOV 1. _

Only a couple of people look over at him, dark eyes meeting his.

He walks home knowing that tonight the State will investigate his excuse and tomorrow everything just might be different.


	9. Cross-Pollination iii.

He almost expects someone to barge in his room at night. He imagines the soldier that hit him with the baton showing up with that sadistic grin on his face, getting off on hitting someone with Dan’s particular  _ deviance. _

No one comes, he just gets no sleep for no reason. He tries to tell himself that he should appreciate this alone time like he used to. All day at work, he can only think about getting into bed, anyway, but when he’s here he just wants to go do  _ something _ . It’s even more uncomfortable with the pain in his back and he just can’t relax.

Not that he could go for a walk. He doesn’t doubt there would be some seriously sadistic fuckers out walking with their flashlights and batons.

By morning, he’s tired enough that it’s hard to trudge to Phil’s street, but he does anyway, telling himself that this is the last time he will see the light of day.

He’s never been an optimist.

Phil comes around the corner, tilting his head at Dan. Maybe he’s wondering why Dan has come this way for three days in a row. He smiles anyway, so Dan knows it’s not a bad thing.

As they get closer, Phil crosses his arms and grimaces for a split second. As if he thinks Dan will try to reach out for him again.

They pass, only having exchanged eye contact, and Dan lowers his head in case the same soldier might be waiting for him. Curse him and his long gangly limbs that fill out this bright orange uniform, making him stand out like a damn Oompa Loompa walking down the road. Nothing comes and he breathes out in relief.

None of the soldiers seem mildly surprised that he’s late clocking in late.

This is routine, walking into his lone tablet sitting on the table. He’s just began offering a sly head nod at James. Then he searches for Cornelia and those pretty curls. Maybe he’ll miss this, as horrible as it is.

He desperately tries to meet Cornelia’s eyes, moving closer and closer, until he’s right next to her and she drops a note in front of him.

Dan is far too impatient to be careful. He walks out to the washroom, and into the tiny stall, hunching over the note carefully while squatting on the toilet.

> Took a different course of action re: strike. Created faux scene to imply “members” left in a hurry, leaving books and agendas as “evidence”. Best case: State punishes soldiers for advancing in a way to allow convicts to escape. Otherwise we hope to make State believe they have upper hand. Will hold warfare for march.

Dan vocally groans in relief, reading it a few more times before dropping it in the toilet and flushing. He puts his head in his hands, smiling and shaking his head.

This stress is going to be the end of him.

-

Once again, he only stays at the dining hall for half the time. He and Cornelia talk lightly, vaguely celebratory, though a bit more discreet while the guards walk around them suspiciously.

“I’ve missed that smile of yours,” she says, and he flashes it brightly at her while he stands.

James opens his eyes and blinks rapidly while Dan walks by.

“Don’t worry mate, I just need my nap, too.” Dan smiles and James reciprocates.

He sits on a table again, swinging his legs and basking in the defiant act of being normal for a bit.

-

The next two days pass much the same. He doesn’t see Phil, he reckons he might be in trouble for being late quite that often. It hurts to know Phil might be drowning in worry somewhere but Sunday comes again.

For once, he’s not feeling all that bad mentally. In fact, there’s more than just a glimmer of hope. There’s heaps more hope than that right now.

The mirror over the sink is rusted and dirty but he does his best to fix his curls. He washes his hair and his armpits and his genitals thoroughly. He holds cold water under his eyes to tame the swelling of his eyebags. He pushes out the blackheads on his nose. He brushes his teeth with his finger and nails until his gums bleed some, then he cleans his fingernails. He peels off the long ones with his teeth.  _ Self-care _ he thinks, chuckling to himself. He goes an extra step and rolls up the sleeves on his orange shirt that he also washed in the sink. It’s damp but what can you do.

He lives in a particularly gross, industrial part of town but the few trees he passes have turned a lovely, nostalgic kind of orange and the air is crisp. Maybe he should have brought his coat, but he can warm up soon enough with Phil.

Today, he and Phil walk in at the same time. Phil looks surprised for a moment but returns a subtle smile as they walk in, bumping orange shoulders.

Phil nods at him with his eyes raised in concern. Dan nods back confidently with a smile and casual shrug. A thousand words.

Being energized means Dan can’t tune out the sermon as much as usual. He follows along while looking right at the man up at the front. He’s all too conventionally attractive with dark hair slicked to the side and strong build, a tailored suit and clean-shaven, white skin.

Dan wonders how he finds all these different ways to explain the incoming apocalypse that God warned the people about and the great measures the State took to stop climate change and famine and whatever else. Through the sacrifice of Jesus Christ, of course. Maybe the State is the crown representative of J.C. in their eyes.

There is no crown anymore. It’s something that Dan rarely thinks about. In fact, getting rid of the monarchy seemed kind of...good. No more of those strange traditions and looming posh people with endless money and no more seeing royal children talked about on his timeline.

Looking back, it sounds more like pretentious propaganda to back up merit and “rationality”. Maybe he did fall for some of that shit by the journalists who pretended to be left-wing.

He remembers Phil had a particularly popular tweet about what might happen to the Queen’s corgis (and how he wants to adopt them). Dan can’t believe how many memes there were, when the whole act contributed to this world he now lives in.

These conservative values aren’t necessarily conservative, really. No more monarchy, no more family. A more sinister version with only particular facts and a sort of new-age Darwinian power system.

Did it matter to spend so much time understanding those values when it came to practice anyway? Dan doesn’t particularly want to know that families were torn apart because population growth was far too exponential and hygiene was deteriorating, and unions were scrapped because they favoured “undesirables” and “leeches”. Universities were suddenly not funded because they were propaganda machines but businesses became monopolies because they supported autonomy. The natural disasters and pollution were God’s punishment and the death rates were up because of violent Antifa and black people. 

Rationality. Dan heard that word a lot.

The minister shakes his fist in the air with each enunciation, which happens a lot.

“We all felt uncomfortable in our own skin before the revelation. We saw it all around. People tried to follow dangerous fringe groups, they tried to change their genders, they took drugs and mutilated themselves because the suffering was too great. Those people have been healed and forgiven.” 

Dan shakes his head and Phil kicks his foot.

He feels mostly angry when they walk out. It’s a feeling that’s exhausting but also slightly missed. At least he feels driven and self-righteous.

Once again, he trails Phil into the apartment with increasing confidence.

So much confidence that he runs and jumps onto the bed, landing heavily with his knees on either side of Phil, hearing a crack that’s undoubtedly half the bed boards snapping. It’s worth it for the laugh it elicits from Phil.

He’s still giggling as Dan bends down and kisses his teeth, groaning against him until Phil finally kisses him back properly.

Phil wraps his arms around Dan’s neck and tugs roughly. Dan feels the bruise as his shoulders twist and winces.

“Shit,” Phil gasps, moving his hands to hold Dan’s arms gently. Dan falls sideways and breathes out until the ache subsides.

“I’m okay,” he mumbles.

“Would a massage help?” 

Dan hesitates for only a second before he nods and flops over. “Be gentle, you’ll see the bruise.”

Phil pushes up his shirt and coos sympathetically, running a finger around it.

“That fucking ass,” Phil’s mutters. Dan chuckles at him and nods. He pulls his shirt fully off and throws it on the floor.

Phil rugs down his pants and Dan looks back at him amusedly.

“Is this a full body massage?”

“Yes. Getting you all naked is my paycheck,” Phil explains. Dan snorts at him but shuts up when hands begin to run up and down on his back, warming up his skin.

Phil massages the knots of muscle across his back, being light as a feather in the vicinity of his bruise. His fingers pay special attention to the top of his spine where he’s begun to slouch even more. He moans dramatically.

“Shh,” Phil says, so Dan does it louder and Phil slaps his skin just below his underpants, giggling.

“That’s not exactly a discouraging punishment,” he says, wiggling. Phil straddles him and sits down.

“You want this massage or not?”

“Yes, very much so, rub me up.”

“Control yourself.”

He gets back to work, digging his fingers and knuckles into the soft spots below his shoulder. It’s rough without lotion and his skin warms quickly. He goes slow, careful, as if giving equal attention to each bundle of muscle. He turns around and does the same on Dan’s legs, strengthened and tense with days full of walking and standing.

He tells Dan to turn over eventually and does the same to the top of his thighs and his pecks and shoulders and finally his temples, at which time Dan can’t help but open his eyes and smile up at him. 

“Why, hello.”

“Hey.”

Phil leans forward until he’s held up by his elbows. 

“Your turn?” Dan says, grabbing Phil’s butt and kneading it.

“I knew you were gonna do that.”

“I love you,” Dan says.

“And I love you.” Phil smiles.

“Good.”

“Good.” 

His voice is barely even a whisper, but he’s lowered down enough for their noses to be touching and Dan can feel his every breath.

“Now have sex with me, please,” Dan says, staring up with his most seductive eyes.

Dan expects a snarky comment back, an eye-roll, maybe some teasing. Instead, he feels Phil’s legs slide in-between his and a mouth quickly on his. Phil drops his weight down and kisses him with all he’s got. Dan sighs out heavily, unable to keep a smile off his face.

-

Phil wraps his arms and his legs around Dan like a koala, always needing the post-sex cuddles. Dan strokes his nails along his back, liking how it makes Phil shiver and twitch at the sensation.

Dan’s butt is just slightly sore, but it was a fun kind of newness that they haven’t experienced in a long time. The newness being the constraint placed upon them leading to Phil just spitting lots and getting a couple of fingers up there. No more than that, not with the lack of sanitation here. But the fingers helped, oh, they helped.

So did Phil mouthing at his neck and sucking bruises just below, with the desperation for each other that never falters anymore.

Dan sighs out in bliss. “Thank you.”

Phil peeks up at him. “Are you thanking me for fucking you?”

“And the massage, you twat. But yeah, I feel spoiled.” 

And he does, his muscles are loose and he feels half a decade younger and it’s instilled a kind of euphoria he hopes never leaves. 

“Mm.”

“You got cum on my shirt,” Dan says, lifting up the orange fabric to assess.

“Just a little piece of me that you can take everywhere.”

“Gross,” he says, but leans down to kiss Phil.

“So is this,” Phil pokes at the bruise at Dan’s collar until Dan squirms.

Dan snaps at Phil’s finger with his teeth. “I’d like the tip of your finger to take everywhere with me.”

Phil giggles loudly, “That’s sick!”

“Maybe so!”

“Maybe I like it.” Phil nuzzles back into Dan’s neck, clinging hard and Dan smiles without effort. 

_ This  _ is the life. Truly, if Dan could just stay in bed together, he would. Forever.

They do have a few more moments of peaceful bliss until Phil clears his throat.

“So...you’re not in danger anymore, right?” He asks, his voice small.

“That’s a tricky question in a militarized oligarchy.”

“You know what I mean,” he lifts his head. “Is everything figured out?”

“Yeah. I think so. I had a bit of a mental breakdown but Cornelia helped me figure it out. I should have gone to her in the first place, I know I don’t need to  _ protect  _ her. God, I want her to protect  _ me. _ ” 

Dan mumbles on about all the little details, wanting Phil to know everything that he does. The words flow with little thought, and he closes his tired eyes. 

Phil is quiet for a few moments when he finishes speaking.

“God. It stresses me out. But is he going to let you change jobs since he thinks you gave good information?” Phil finally asks.

“I don’t want to ask. I just want it to be over and to be invisible again.”

“Yeah, I don’t even care about you coming over, I just want you to be safe.”

“I know.” Dan kisses his cheek.

“I was so fucking worried, I cried all night, Dan.”

“You and your emotional soul,” Dan coos, hugging him.

“It’s a pain, I literally can’t bear the thought of losing you.”

“That’s a cliche.”

“It’s true!” Phil insists.

Dan smiles weakly. “Yeah, same.”

“No more drama for a while then? Can we just go to work and church and rendezvous once in a while?” Phil smiles at him.

Dan grins instinctively but then pauses for a moment, feeling his smile falter.

“I just remembered another thing. The eyebrow guy said something else. He said you’re a  _ writer  _ at the Sun.”

Phil’s eyes grow wider for a split second and his smile disappears. He doesn’t reply.

Dan’s stomach drops, it’s enough to recognize the truth.

“You told me...and Martyn, too, that you’re just an editor.”

“I mean, it’s part of it.”

“Phil.”

“We all have to do what we need to survive.” Phil’s voice trembles a bit. He sits up.

“What the fuck do you write about?”

“I only write what they tell me, I’m given a little slip with the main details and I write it out in a persuasive way—”

“But  _ what  _ is it?”

“The war. I write details about the fake war. It’s just what they say and I try to make it sound professional. I know, I know, it’s a horrible part of this all.”

Dan puts a hand to his mouth and looks away from Phil’s face.

“I do feel guilty, all the time, that’s why I didn’t want to mention it.” He insists. “I just didn’t want to talk about it.” Phil tilts his head to look at Dan straight on.

“You’re, like, a fake news journalist. And war propaganda of all things. People still hate the East.”

“I don’t come up with it.”

“You publish it,” Dan mumbles. That was one of the worst parts, even before. Watching people begin to believe.

“Dan, you know I don’t believe it or anything they say. What would you have done?” Phil sounds almost desperate.

He grabs his pants, feeling far too exposed having an argument butt naked. Phil doesn’t deserve the view right now. He sits up again.

“I’ll tell you what I  _ am _ doing, I’m marching in a strike against the State in a week.” 

“Dan!”

“I’ve made up my mind. I’m not going to be compliant anymore.”

“Don’t do that, like maybe I’m not brave enough and I never have been, but you know my goal is for us to be okay. Healthy, safe, secure.” Phil wipes a threatening tear away and sniffs. “It’s made me secure at least, you should be happy about that.”

“I am, but you know this is  _ bad _ ,” he says, grabbing Phil’s hands.

“I really hate it, I do.”

“I know, I believe you. And maybe I would have done the same, it’s not like I’ve done anything to resist since this came into policy.” Dan sighs. “But just because it’s not your fault  _ specifically _ doesn’t mean it’s not horrible _ . _ ”

Phil squeezes his hands.

“You should come to strike with me,” Dan says.

Phil shakes his head.

“And tell people in your building about it.”

“It’s not going to work, people will just die.”

“What, they’ll just kill us all?” Dan asks.

Phil shrugs. “Maybe,” he whispers.

“I kind of doubt that.”

“Remember before? Tear gas and pellets and then later on  _ guns? _ ”

“Okay, but this is going to be huge and they’ve recruited all these young men who are barely adults and don’t have to do any violence day-to-day. I bet you a lot of them are unhappy with their working conditions, and not ready to fight innocent people like them,” Dan explains.

“But you don’t see most of the soldiers, only the ones on your street. You can’t bet on them when we don’t know how they really will be.” Phil’s voice is softer now, persuasive. “Like that guy from my street.”

“I refuse to believe that all humans are that cruel and heartless. Not inherently, not in a way that can’t change.”

“You can’t base this on your personal philosophy.”

“You believe that humans are inherently good, too!”

Phil shakes his head, then shrugs. “So many people are so heartless.”

“As if I fucking haven’t seen the worst of people, too. People get inspired by resistances. People have good sides that can be let out.” He squeezes Phil’s hands enough that it must start to hurt.

“Maybe.”

“You could publish about the plan to strike. We can alert the people who are more isolated so they can prepare to show up.”

Phil’s mouth drops open. He snaps it shut and shakes his head. “You’ve lost your mind.”

“Is it possible?”

“No? Jesus.”

“In what way? Who handles publishing what you write?”

“Everyone sends to the publishing office. They review and post.”

“Maybe they’re against the State. Maybe they want to strike.”

“Dan,” Phil gulps, shaking his head. “People that high up...like me, even, get privileges. Nice apartments and good food, gifts.”

Dan just stares at him for a moment.

“You’ve hidden all of this, you’re so ashamed, yet you keep taking it?”

Phil drops his head and breathes in shakily.

“It’s on November 1st, the second Monday from now. Send it in, like it’s news right at the start of the day then leave, get lost in the crowd and come hide at mine.”

“Then later get arrested and die in a cell.” Phil frowns at him.

“You’ll be the least of anyone’s worries, with all these rioters in the street. People have built warfare, or smuggled it, I don’t know.” Dan sits up taller, nodding to himself.

“I don’t want you in this, will I convince you in any way?”

“I’ll hide in my apartment with you.” Dan smiles smugly.

“God, you can’t just manipulate me like that.”

Dan ignores him. “I’d bet anything that this is your first misdemeanour. You’ve been a reliable worker, moved up the chain. You attempt to use your objective journaling or whatever to warn people. It  _ is _ a war, technically.” Dan shakes his leg excitedly but Phil keeps frowning.

“I don’t know, Dan.”

“Daddy Marx wants you to,” Dan points to the ceiling and his insides spark at the slightest hint of a smile on Phil’s face, that he quickly composes.

“I promise to think about leaving and coming to find you, but not trying to publish anything. It’s too much of a risk to have my name on something they can trace back, you  _ have _ to understand it wouldn’t work,” Phil says.

“It’s possible it would.”

“Why aren’t you worried about all this?” Phil looks hurt, furrowing his eyebrows together.

“I’ve been worried for the past thirty-six years of my life.”

“You’re a smartass, you know.”

“We’ve always known we had to take risks. We took so many risks to get to where we were before this all.”

“It’s different when the risk is having to move into Mum’s basement versus getting arrested or being  _ killed _ .” Phil flops down on Dan’s bed, looking absolutely spent.

“We’ll live in harmony in heaven.”

“You don’t believe in heaven,” Phil says.

“Well, maybe when I’m nothing but a corporeal soul floating out of my lifeless body then I’ll dream about you for the rest of time, floating through the galaxy.”

Phil groans. He flops down on his side then grabs Dan’s arm and roughly pulls him down next to him. Dan lets it happen, let’s Phil hug him again and bury his head in Dan’s armpit, while he stares at the ceiling with a surprising rush of adrenaline.


	10. Cross-Pollination iv.

They rest for a while longer, sinking into the hard mattress like Dan never does alone. He apologizes for being angry and stressing Phil out, and Phil apologizes for lying and being resistant to everything Dan says.

“I’m scared of dying,” Phil mutters.

“Yeah, I’ve noticed, idiot. I’m more afraid of dying than I thought I was, originally. I still think I’m more afraid of wasting my entire life. Spending years and years in suffering and guilt, with no freedom.” Dan says.

“I have simpler wishes.”

“Which are?” 

“To hug you lots and be with family.” He closes his eyes.

“Well think about how you can be reunited with family.”

Phil ignores him. “I would also like sugary sweets and a big TV with good speakers and unlimited movies and pizza and a dog and a comfy bed and Christmas roast with yorkshire pudding and a milkshake….”

“You’re just hungry.”

“Do you have food?”

“I have the same as last time. And the time before that.”

Phil grimaces only slightly. “I love Dan’s special beans on toast.”

“Yeah, you better. I waste a whole portion of food to you.”

Phil frowns more at that. “You struggle to buy food?”

“Yeah, obviously.”

“Oh.”

Dan just stands up to begin preparing his ingredients. He can’t seem to help himself from rambling, even though it obviously worries Phil.

“If I want food that needs to be cooked, even just eggs, I need to buy matches, also expensive. I do have one pot and some matches because I was really lacking in nutrients but I had to fast to afford it. If I turn on the fridge, it’s taken right out of my bill at a rate that changes every fucking time I swear, same with water. I lose dining hall privileges when I’m late to see you, and, like, it’s worth it, but I don’t get hot food because of it, or variety, I just get what will keep me alive. I’d like to treat myself, but I can’t really justify it, ever, because then I’m just guilty and hungrier after.”

He makes and brings the food over before Phil replies, sitting up.

“I’m sorry.”

Dan shrugs. “I’m a dropout, I have no merit to a good job in this system, or any way to change that now.”

“It’s not fair. I’m smuggling food next time.”

“Yes please,” Dan smiles.

Phil does eat it, every last crumb, without complaint even though Dan knows it’s the farthest thing from appetizing. Phil holds onto Dan’s knee with his other hand like he can’t bear to let him go.

Phil lays in his lap after, it sparks a pang in Dan’s heart because he knows they’re both struggling. They’re not on the same page and they’re both frustrated and desperate and worried for the other.

Dan wants to believe that nothing has changed between them. But it’s been a long time apart and they’ve missed out on many things together. They’re constrained by secrecy and problems bigger than the both of them. They keep on surprising each other like they haven’t for years.

Maybe the change isn’t all bad. They’re learning about each other, navigating this world together and staying as strong as can be. 

Nonetheless, Dan can’t help but mourn this one bit of constancy that seems to be faltering.

As if reading his thoughts, Phil mumbles, “I’m always on your side.”

Dan nods even though Phil isn’t looking up at him.

“I also look up to you. I always have.” Phil says. 

Dan peeks down at him and smiles. “I looked up to you first.”

“I’m gonna be serious right now.”

“Alright.”

Phil turns so he’s on his back looking up.

“You’re brave and empathetic and I think you’re right about everything, and I know we can navigate this,” he says.

“I promise I will try not to die.” Dan smiles mockingly and Phil slaps him weakly. 

“You will never die.”

“Okay.”

“It’s dark, we should sleep,” Phil says.

“How does the time we have together go by ten times as fast?”

Dan shuffles under the covers and opens his arms for Phil to get comfortable while he rambles on about time being so weird now. Phil manhandles him until they fit together and Dan sighs out, letting his eyes close to listen. This bed never feels so comfortable alone.

\- 

They wake to the beeping on Dan’s watch. Phil turns and hugs Dan closer in response, an iron grip around his shoulders.

Dan hugs his waist gently, too sleepy and weak to do more. Phil has the singular ability to make Dan have a restful sleep and now he never wants to wake up.

Consciousness isn’t  _ un _ wanted, though. Being aware of all the warm skin pressed up to him and the particular odour of Phil that Dan grew to like is more than welcome. Cuddling is such a simple pleasure that he always craved but never enjoyed until he met Phil.

Finally, they begin to stir a bit more. Dan hears Phil’s stomach rumble so he chuckles and rolls out of Phil’s constraining arms so he can spread some soft margarine on his bread for the two of them. Phil slowly sits up, yawning and stretching his arms over his head. 

It’s far from the same as sitting on a couch with cereal, but munching away side by side on a single bed is close enough to feel nostalgic.

The sadness creeping into his bones is nostalgic too, but in a way that makes his heart pang. This preemptive missing each other, a strong melancholic feeling that unites them but feels distant nonetheless. They will count down the days to when they can see each other again soon.

“Mm,” Phil mumbles with a mouthful and crumbs on his lips. “I had a dream.”

“Tell me.”

“We lived in this really pretty place, really quiet and isolated...actually, remember that road trip we took with Martyn and Corn? In Arizona? It was like that, except a big house with a bunch of rooms.”

Phil takes another big bite of bread, leaning into Dan.

“We had, like, a penthouse suite at the top and it was super pretty out the room and we had those nice sheets from before and all our stuff and old clothes and a big TV, and in the other rooms was all our family. I remember my mum and dad, and your mum, Martyn and Corn, of course. Our grandparents were there, weirdly, it didn’t seem weird to me when dreaming. It was just a happy full house.”

“Ain’t that the dream.”

“I know, I really wish,” Phil says.

“I don’t know, sounds like too many people. That would be far too many game nights and my mum trying to bond with me.”

“I’d take it.”

“I mean, me too, right now. Obviously.” He takes a big bite.

Dan is nibbling away at his food, checking his watch when he hears a noise. They both pause their chewing and turn their ears just slightly to the front door.

Heavy footsteps on the stairs. There’s usually a lot of rustling as people go to work but not this loud, or coming  _ up  _ the stairs. It even sounds like there is talking, muffled through the walls.

Phil grabs and squeezes Dan’s hand. Dan squeezes back, but only for a moment before he pulls his hand away, to Phil’s resistance, and scoots away with a sudden lump in his throat.

The door does open the next moment, and he jumps despite expecting it. He had this exact intuition the very second he heard the noise. It feels like it’s inevitable suddenly. Such a good thing couldn’t happen to him without consequences.

Phil whimpers beside him but Dan puts on as neutral of a face as he can and looks up at the three strangers in those brown uniforms, weapons along their belts, sauntering in confidently.

The one on the very left clears his throat. “You are both under arrest for unlawful assembly by the State.”

The other two men grab Dan and Phil, pulling them up by their wrists as the man speaks. Dan hears clinking and puts his hands together as cold metal clamps on the bone of his wrist.

He sounds almost bored, like this is his usual day-to-day activity, as menial as answering emails. “You’re convicted of opposition, conspiring, and deviation.”

That seems to be the end of his speech. The men push them out, leaving bits of bread on the bed and the door wide open. Dan stares at his feet, trying not to trip.

Other people are walking out of their rooms but they stop, flattening themselves against the door for the soldiers to walk them by. Others jump down the stairs to move. Outside it’s even worse, people walking to work, peeking over at them. Dan makes a pointed effort to look people in the eye but no one meets him with eye contact. It’s like they look through him, acknowledging without really seeing him. Dan hears Phil sniffle. 

“It’s okay, Phil,” he shouts backwards. His arm is squeezed and pulled forward.

It could be humorous. Phil has never been the slightest bit close to getting arrested on any day in his life. Dan hasn’t either, but it’s less surprising for him. He feels a bit numb.

He tries again, the horrible sound of Phil crying still in his ear. “We’ll be alright, Phil,” he says, and again he’s manhandled forward, farther from the noise behind him.

There’s so much he could say to Phil right now, but he’d rather stay silent than let the guards or anyone around them hear it. He doesn’t know how they would be treated, and he’d rather die than give them such an insight into what he and Phil have anyway.

They walk for blocks, Dan continuously escorted in front of Phil with a hand on his elbow. People walk on the grass so the soldiers can pass through the swarms of people walking to work. There really are a lot of people, Dan never leaves the house quite this early. So many orange jumpsuits.

It’s a large, familiar building with chipped pillars looming over them that makes Dan start to feel real. Makes him recognize that he  _ is _ scared, and makes him begin to feel the beat of his heart again. He wants to be not scared for Phil right now but he can’t help it. He’s marched up the steps. He really has no idea what will happen now. 

They’ve been marched through the streets of old London in a walk of shame, will they emerge afterwards? Will they ever see each other again?

Another guard opens the door for them and it’s much more modern inside. It’s clean, marble and stainless steel, futuristic and sleek like things increasingly used to be in London.

He begins to tremble, his shoulders sink inwards, and he doesn’t feel brave at all. He’s sunk as low as he possibly could have since laying in bed with the love of his life just minutes ago. For just a moment, he had all the control in the world.

“Dan!” 

He whips his head towards Phil’s voice. His eyes pop wide when he sees Phil being dragged to the opposite corner of the room.

  
“Hey! Why are we going to different places?” Dan says, his voice almost a yell. The guard yanks his elbow hard enough that the handcuffs snap as far as they reach and definitely bruise his wrist. He winces and Phil stares at him desperately before he’s pulled into a door and out of Dan’s gaze.

Dan’s pulled in another room at the very next moment and suddenly it’s like he can’t breathe. Maybe this room is deprived of oxygen and that’s the torture he will be subjected to for the rest of his miserable life, maybe he’ll be slowly gassed or suffocated by the hot air until he finally succumbs. His vision is so blurry now that he can barely move on his own, but something pushes his arm and he stumbles until he finds a bench with his shin. He gets both of his hands on it, the rough wood and bends his knees just enough to fall on it. His lungs are screaming so he finally gives his best effort at sucking in air and wheezes with the small amount of oxygen seeping into his lungs. He croaks it out with an obnoxious groan and he knows he needs to try harder. Finally, he bends down between his knees and begins to hyperventilate.

In, out, in, out, in, out. It’s a great feeling to taste that air, to stop holding his head up, to close his eyes until finally, he’s breathing with uncomfortable pants of breath. He’s panicking, he knows that, but it feels impossible to exercise mindfulness when he has every reason in the world to panic right now.

He opens his eyes but the room stays dark. He keeps breathing heavily, eating up the air desperately, until his eyes can see more than the void in front of him.

He’s not alone in this cell. Right across from him, a skinny guy with brown skin sits slouched against the wall, his legs stretched out. He stares at Dan with a bewildered gaze.

Dan has some semblance of dignity left so he sits up, leaning one shoulder against the wall, turning away from the man as if he could hide. He looks around, it’s only the two of them. Breathe in, breathe out.

“You alright?”

Dan nods, unable to form words at this point. The panic rips at his chest, it’s been a while since he’s panicked this bad but he’s pretty sure he might just pass out from it. He puts his head back between his knees and rocks back and forth.

What the  _ fuck  _ has he gotten them into?

He’s not in the mood to talk. Phil must be  _ terrified.  _ He hopes Phil might have a nice guy in there with him. Or nobody. Yeah, nobody.

Nobody can talk to, touch, or so much as look at Phil or Dan just might explode.

-

The guy across from him eventually lays down on the bench so Dan copies him. He rests his spinning head and they sit in silence. Some semblance of solidarity. Or just a desperate attempt to find comfort.

Eventually, the man does speak again.

“Don’t worry. Jail here, well, I’m pretty sure they put all the guards out on the streets to make it seem like there’s so many. They don’t give a fuck once you’re behind bars. They starve you and stare at you and then you’re thrown out while you can barely fuckin’ stand. But you’ll be fine overall.” He says. 

Dan isn’t ready to talk about this. He just nods and stares at the ceiling. Phil doesn’t do good without food.

Sometimes he can’t believe the stuff his brain conjures up. Why on earth can he even picture Phil having a horrible time, crying, being bullied, assaulted, lying beaten and bloodied? Why does his own psyche offer this up to him?

Phil is going to be hungry, scared, sad, worried about Dan right back, and who knows when they’ll be able to see each other.  _ If  _ they’ll be able to see each other. Who’s to say they won’t be executed for sodomy right here and right now.

Maybe none of it was worth it. Right now he’d do anything to just have the comfort of knowing Phil is okay. He’d be happy to know Phil is living his privileged life in a nice apartment with a decent paycheck that gets him edible food. He’d be happy to go back to his shitty life in the apartment building that probably has black mould that’s slowly killing him. He will do it.

But he refuses to pray, to give in to such a thing.


	11. Isolated

There’s a boredom he didn’t quite expect. He spends every day of his life bored but not like this. Jail sounds like the most interesting thing to happen to him but really the time drags on and he’s restless and his back hurts and his butt hurts and it’s too cold and he’s hungry. His watch is gone and he doesn’t remember when it was taken. He wishes he had shoved that last piece of toast in his mouth as if it would have made any difference. At some point, he looks down and is surprised by how skinny he is. The last time he was this slim must have been high school when his Mum stopped making dinner for him and his dad wasn’t around so Dan would just go to his bedroom and lay there.

It’s dark in the cell. Even though his eyes have had time to adjust, it’s just too dim to not strain his eyes. 

There’s one toilet. The other guy fidgets a lot in his sleep and Dan keeps getting pee shy but he’s still managed to relieve himself a few times. 

All there is to drink is water from the gross sink above the toilet, so he’s not taking in too many fluids but when he does get thirsty he realizes it’s just about the worst torture he could subject himself to. It’s worse than being hungry. The only good thing is that it distracts him from being hungry for a short while.

He ignores all his stomach pain, tries to brush it off as cramps or phantom pain. Too much of his dignity would be lost by shitting in front of a guy whose name he doesn’t even know. 

The room is completely sealed in with a door he can make out and a small window out to a hallway. He hasn’t peeked out but he has heard the odd noise. It’s quiet enough that he knows it’s not as rambunctious as he’s seen in so many prison movies.

No guards come, either. Not even to drop off food. He remembers hearing that people have survived for thirty days without food before, but that might not be him. Or Phil. They’ve surely been too comfortable in life to survive a fast like this. His stomach will eat him alive.

Dan’s getting a bit antsy for some distraction.

He’s especially curious about the man in front of him. He seems nice, but it’s probably just because he’s small and non-threatening. He was also kind to Dan, open to a conversation, probably not following any weird prison power domination norms like in the movies. Dan clears his throat.

“How long have you been here?”

The man is quiet and Dan thinks maybe he’s asleep, but he looks over and the man shrugs.

“I honestly have no sense of time in here,” he says.

“Yeah, me too. I feel like I could have been here for an hour but I feel like it’s dragged out into weeks.”

“You’ve been here longer than that, don’t worry.” He chuckles softly.

“Have you ever gotten food?”

“The most important step to fasting is to not think about food at any cost.”

“Shit, sorry.”

“No, I haven’t.”

Dan grinds his teeth. “What’s your name?” He asks, hoping to create a better distraction.

“Alex.”

“Alex,” Dan repeats.

“Indeed.”

“I’m Dan.”

“Nice to meet you.”

“Is it?”

“Well not necessarily, not in this situation. I’d rather meet you at a bar somewhere. Maybe shitfaced.”

Dan snorts. The smile feels foreign on his face.

“Sorry, my humour has turned weird in here. I’ve never had a roomie.” Alex says.

“My sanity has turned weird.”

“Hasn’t everyone’s.”

There’s a minute or so that they don’t speak, but Dan thinks that everything feels better when they talk. He tries again.

“Is it bad to ask what you’re in here for?” Dan asks.

“Probably. But I’m no thug.”

“No?”

“No. I doubt anyone here is. There’s probably a worse jail for people like that. That, or the chavs are all guards now.”

“I can see it.”

“Anyway, this is my third time in here. I hacked the tablet in my room. Thrice.” He sounds humorous but also smug.

Dan sits up immediately, peering at him in the dark. “No way.”

“Yes way. I was a comp-sci grad student.” He smiles smugly.

“Well, fuck.”

“I mostly coded video game software but I had some other hobbies that came in handy. Fulfilling my ninja hacker stereotyped lifestyle.”

“Fucking badass.” Dan laughs, more in glee than anything.

“How about you? I sure hope you murdered someone.”

“Not even close. I snuck my boyfriend into my apartment.”

His heart picks up as he waits for a reaction, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment, but he looks over to see a wide smile.

“I’m trying to think of something witty to say but that’s just plain adorable.”

Dan lets out a breath and smiles.

“Thanks,” he says, lamely.

“Did you meet recently, or was it…”

“From before.  _ Before  _ before, like the 2000s.” He feels proud to say it.

“Fuck, how old are you?”

“Thirty...six? I might have still been a teenager when I fell for him.”

“Never got married? You sound like a romantic.”

“He thinks it’s just a piece of paper. We thought we might one day, though, but it didn’t seem like a great time when the world was falling apart.”

“Maybe that’s the best time to do it,” Alex says.

“Maybe you’re right,” Dan mutters. Suddenly he wishes he could go back and do it.

He doesn’t want to think about how they may never be able to have kids. They’re getting so old.

“You seem kind of familiar. Do you think we ever met before? What neighbourhood did you live in?” Alex leans closer to peer at Dan. Dan smiles amusedly.

“Nope,” he says. “I don’t think so.”

“I’m having some weird deja vu sense that I can’t place. Am I crazy?”

Dan just laughs, laying back on the bench.

“You’re a funny guy. Somethings fishy.”

Dan shrugs. “Will you tell me about your hacking? Have you found anything interesting?”

“Oh yes. I managed to get on some Scandinavian NPV’s news sites. The issue is, I can’t read Dutch, or whatever it was, but I  _ think  _ people are protesting authoritarian governments like ours still. I’m pretty damn sure. We’re a big fuckin’ human rights issue. There are definitely fringe groups out there but most of it seems…shocked and confused about us.”

Dan breathes out a sigh of relief. There’s still some of that common sense in the world. 

“I tried to get through to Canada, they’re easy, but my tablet was shut down and soldiers came soon after. Another time, I saw some stuff about accepting refugees there, but there was an election so it would come down to the party.” 

“Shit, you don’t think it’s gonna happen there, too?” Dan asks.

“I don’t know, people have been panicking. The Maritimes are fucking underwater, the Rockies on fire, the prairies a desert. I have family in Toronto, it wasn’t looking good before.” Alex frowns. “Shit, I think it might be the same in Australia, too. Horrible droughts and food scarcity. I noticed this before, too, that there’s little time to protest when people are worried about staying alive.”

“The Netherlands are probably still good, right?”

He shrugs. “I guess. I don’t know. It’s not apocalyptic at least, and good welfare, but the identity politics is another story.  _ I  _ wouldn’t be good there.”

“What about, like, in the East?” Dan asks.

“I probably don’t know much more than you. My family all emigrated long ago, and I didn’t do my research before. The Internet is still heavily censored, in so many damn places I didn’t even know where to look. China and Russia are still trading with the US, I know. It’s hard to tell what’s real news. I also never felt like I was getting real news about the wars, I don’t know about you.”

Dan frowns, turns to the wall behind him. This conversation isn’t making him feel better anymore. He’s slipping into existential dread about the world ending. Again.

“I’m gonna take a rest,” Dan mutters, pressing his hands on his eyes. He doesn’t hear a reply.

-

Sleep doesn’t come. Every time he tries to sleep, he can’t quite dip into full unconsciousness. Some peace and quiet is nice, nonetheless.

He hopes Alex isn’t put off. There’s enough pain in the world that he doesn’t want to be a bad friend on top of it all.

When Alex finally stands, chugs some water from the tap and pees, Dan speaks again. 

“Sorry about earlier. I get this dread that’s just so encapsulating….”

Alex shrugs. “I really can’t blame you. I guess I get pretty numb. Or I pretend it’s all a movie.”

“That’s a good strategy. I get too caught up on wanting to make something of my life, wanting to feel fulfilled but also like I’ve done all that I can to help others feel good. Can’t do much of that here.” Dan shrugs as if it doesn’t bother him to no end.

Alex stares at him. Dan awkwardly makes eye contact. Then Alex walks closer, scrutinizing his face with squinted eyes. Dan fidgets.

“Dan  _ Howell _ ,” Alex whispers.

Dan puts a hand on his face and groans, but it quickly turns into a laugh.

“That’s who you fucking are.”   
  
“That’s who I fucking am, unfortunately.”

“That’s crazy. Kind of a celebrity, huh?” He sits back down.

“Z-list celebrity.”

“I’m still starstruck,” Alex says. “I spent about half my life on YouTube watching playthroughs, I think.”

“I can give you my autograph, you can get it tattooed.”

“Too many prison stereotypes we little gay boys have.”

Dan snort laughs, putting a hand over his mouth. He knew he had good reason to feel comfortable.

“Prison is just a sexy little party, is it not?” Dan says.

“Why of course! Where’s my pimp daddy?”

Dan holds his stomach with how much he’s laughing. It takes him a few seconds to recover while Alex just smiles up at the ceiling. 

His smile slowly drops into a frown. He sighs. It doesn’t feel quite right to be so happy here.

Phil is still somewhere, in this building, suffering, maybe with someone much worse than Alex. He hasn’t had the slave labour and the unsanitary apartment and no money to get used to over the course of the last year. Phil is probably an anxious mess, trying to adjust and stay alive.

“My boyfriend was also arrested in this building. Phil, that’s his name,” he says.

“AmazingPhil,” Alex whispers, as if he’s just had an epiphany.

“Shh, that’s fucking weird,” Dan says, but he’s still amused.

“Sorry, sorry, go on.”

“It’s nothing, just, fuck. I’m so worried about whether or not he’s okay.”

“He is, I can assure you.”

“I’m not stupid, nor am I an optimist,” Dan grumbles.

“No, really. This is where the soldiers dump people who aren’t a threat to them. I was marched through my neighbourhood to spark intimidation and then here I will sit and starve and break my back until they open the door. It’s enough suffering and solitude to never want to return, but they’re also not going to waste any energy on us.”

Dan considers it. Then nods. It makes sense.

“The maximum-security prisons are running. Those are the prisoners who need to be brave,” Alex says.

“Do you find that a lot of the soldiers are violent or passive?” Dan asks, on a whim.

“The thing is, they were forcibly drafted. I’ve had some bad experiences but I’d say it’s based on personality type. And a lot of these guys don’t have the personality. They have the muscles from playing football at school but they’re also scared mama’s boys.”

“Did you hear about the strike?”

“Yeah. Wasn’t sure if it was real.”

“It is. I think. Will we get out in time?” 

“We’d fucking better. I would love to wreak havoc.”

“You’re gonna go out fighting in the streets?”

“I’m 5’6, c’mon.” He shifts to a whisper so Dan has to lean in. “I’m going to see if I can shut down their network. There’d be no communication between the guards and the State.”

“You think you can do that?”

“No, but I’ll do my best.”

“I admire that.”

Alex smiles.

“I’m going to hide in my room with Phil. I just want us to be safe.” Dan whispers.

-

The exhaustion is becoming a little overwhelming. The benches aren’t wide enough but Dan doesn’t trust the cleanliness of the floor. The prevailing darkness is really getting to him and he’s just about cold enough to ask Alex to come and lay on top of him. 

He’d give anything to know how long it’s been. It’s really starting to mess with his head. 

If he presses on his eyes he begins to see starts and bright red patterns on the back of his eyelids. Is this the precursor to hallucinations? This circus show right here in his head?

His back hurts too. He has a million things to complain about, even though it could be far worse. It’s been a while since he’s been overly grateful for anything in his life.

Eventually, he stands and walks to the tiny, barred window. It’s just a hallway, with other doors and tiny windows, none of which show anything interesting. The lights are dim, one is even flickering. There are no guards

Dan used to love being in the dark, closing the curtains felt like protection. Suddenly he’s missing the sun on his face. It can’t be good to be in the dark like this, to get no vitamin D. He’s getting no nutrients whatsoever. An enclosement like this will foster the spread of disease and germs. His body will begin to wither away by not moving.   
  
At that thought, he begins pacing back and forth rapidly. God, he sounds like Phil, the fucking hypochondriac. 

He gets an idea and walks back to the window with his face right up to it. 

“Phil!” He yells. He tries it even louder. “ _ Phil! _ ”

There’s no reply, asides from someone yelling “Shut up!”

“Worth a try,” Alex mutters. He has hands covering his eyes.

“You alright?” Dan asks. He sees Alex gulp once.

“Will you check something for me?” Alex asks.

“Yeah, what is it?”

“Are there any bugs in this room?”

The thought makes Dan stagger back into the door.

“You saw some?”

“I don’t know.”

Dan strains his eyes, trying to find angles where the light reflects better. He checks every single corner. Twice.

“Mate, I don’t see anything,” Dan says. “What kind of bugs?”

Alex shakes his head. “My eyes were playing tricks on me. Fuck, it’s so fucking dark in here.”

“I know. What if we’ve only been here for a day? And it’s not even close to over?”

“Don’t say that man. Think about how many times we’ve taken a piss. How hungry you are. It’s been longer.”

“I don’t feel like my body is normal without my brain knowing the time.”

Alex groans, but Dan can’t stop talking, digging him into a hole of panic.

“Really time is just the language of business, and what we really mean is that people are in motion. The Earth orbits and the sun rises and sets but it’s because of constant movement not because  _ time  _ is any real thing. Time can feel drastically different based on the situation you’re in, so there’s really no way to tell how long it’s been.”

Alex doesn’t reply, so Dan surrenders and turns away, curling up and hitting his knee before straightening out again.

-

He knows he sleeps because he dreams. He kind of feels like he’s awake because he can feel the hard bench on his hip and the kink in his neck and the ache of his stomach, but he’s in another world. He’s packing boxes and messing everything up, getting confused. He’s editing a video and he doesn’t recognize any of the clips. Phil is angry at him, refusing to even look at him. He feels like someone is behind him, holding a baton, but the people in front of him walk so slow. 

Then, the click of a door infiltrates his brain, so loud and real that his eyes pop open. A loud creaking noise that follows makes him jump and curl up. Light infiltrates the room like it never did before and he has to close his eyes against it. He peeks an eye open and finds Alex looking back at him in shock.


	12. Cross-Pollination v.

“Chop chop, c’mon.  _ Up! _ ”

The guards don’t seem to understand that Dan and Alex have crippling hunger pains and bloated stomach and joints that are too stiff to physically move. They roll off the benches and whimper while they stand and limp out, holding their hands out against the fluorescent lights. A hand grabs Dan’s arm and pulls him forward faster.

“Is Phil being released?” Dan croaks.

“What?”

Dan coughs with his throat, feeling like he swallowed sandpaper. “Is Phil also being released?”

“I don’t know who the fuck that is.”

Dan feels like an idiot. He hangs his head.

Alex speaks shortly after. “What day is it?”

Dan looks over at him. He is short. His skin is pale and sunken, Dan imagines he looks similar.

“Monday,” the guard says. He drops a watch into Dan’s hand. Dan drops it, then achingly bends down to grab it.

Dan’s head spins a bit, and it’s only more sensory overload to look up and see the doors to the outside world. The guards push them through. Then, the guards walk back into the building and there Dan and Alex stand in the dazzling light of the sun, reflecting off the gross industrial buildings.

“Jesus fuck, I’m not human,” Dan says. He has to cover his eyes.

“Yeah. I need a minute.” 

Alex sits right down on the ground, so Dan slowly does the same.

They stretch out their legs and crack their backs and blink and rub their eyes. Only a couple of minutes pass before Alex stands up and holds a hand out. 

Dan wants to sit here together for longer, but Alex seems so sure of what to do. On shaky, limbs, Dan stands and then looks down at Alex.

“Now we go home, get food, rest, stretch. Then go to work.” Alex sighs and begins to walk.

“Work?”

“The sun is rising. That way is east.”

“Fuck me,” Dan says.

They limp forward. At the corner of the street, Alex begins to turn, but stops when Dan keeps walking straight. Dan halts in his tracks. They stare at each other. 

Then, Dan opens his arms, and they step in for a tight hug. Alex pats his back and leans his head on his shoulder. After a few long seconds, they step back with glassy eyes.

“I’m glad you were there with me,” Dan says.

“Me too. My best prison cellmate-slash-bitch I could ask for.”

Dan laughs loud and genuine and watches as Alex hesitantly walks down the road, peeking over his shoulder and waving like he doesn’t want to go. Dan feels the same. He wants to stay next to Alex.

He forces himself to walk home as fast as his deteriorated muscles will allow.

-

His mattress is wonky, the blankets on the ground. All the cupboards are open, and it makes him ache particularly hard for Phil. Except this is a real mess, all of his items pulled out and left on the floor.

His bread is mouldy, especially the bits he finds tangled in his bedsheets. It feels like such a loss. He supposes he saved money by fasting for a week, but he didn’t make any money either. He picks off the moulded pieces with his fingers and eats the bread that might be half salvageable. It doesn’t taste edible, not at all. After the few bites, he opens a can of beans and eats it straight from the can. He guzzles some water to wash it down.

Almost immediately after, he sits on the toilet for at least ten minutes, the pain enough to moan and groan aloud.

He smells like shit but enough of his necessities are taken care of. He lays down in bed, revelling in the mattress beneath him. 

It feels like a single second has passed before his watch beeps. He groans out loud but pushes himself up with the strength he has left and barely runs out the door.

Dan checks his watch a million times as he limps in a weird speedwalk down the sidewalk. It’s two minutes after 7:50 when he arrives at Phil’s street, desperately staring up and down the line. He mouths the word  _ please _ over and over again and isn’t even bothered by the guards glaring at him but eventually he walks to the end and there is no sign of Phil.

“Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he whispers. He hits himself on his forehead with his fist and barely notices the people around him. He knows he looks absolutely batshit, he knows he looks like this is the first time he’s been outside.

He trudges on to work because there’s nothing else he can do. He trips every few seconds because his legs feel so weak.

Either he was too late to see Phil, Phil stayed home, or he’s still in prison. Or worse.

Dan is grinding his teeth together and staring at the floor as he walks in to work. It doesn’t even occur to him how Cornelia might react until arms are thrown around his shoulders. It pushes him back a step but he hugs her right back.

“What the fuck!” She whispers, but squeezes him until he can’t breathe.

James clears his throat, but when Dan looks over, there’s no sense of hostility. He leans against the wall, nervously glancing out the door. Dan smiles at him and he looks back with a hint of a smirk.

Cornelia steps back, gives a little surrender wave to James, then squeezes Dan’s hands. She stares into his eyes with the loveliest smile and Dan feels a lurch in his heart. A whole bundle of fondness for this woman. He missed her.

They don’t push their luck anymore. Dan goes to grab his tablet, but not without making eye contact with other people who smile at him. He likes to think it’s their way of saying “nice to have you back”. Maybe “nice to see you’re okay”. He wasn’t as invisible as he thought. 

It’s only a small comfort. Phil is still on the forefront of his mind.

It’s particularly difficult to keep on moving today, his limbs shake with the effort. Nonetheless, it’s nice to have space amidst the hustle and bustle of other people, in real light that doesn’t strain his eyes. He wishes there was a window in here. 

It’s not all that different from the prison, a claustrophobic room with no view to the outside with a guarded exit and institutionalized starvation.

When lunch comes, he doesn’t bother talking to James and just sits with Cornelia the whole time.

“Dan, honey. You look horrible. Talk to me about how you’re feeling, about what happened.” she says.

He pushes his hair back. It droops down enough to tickle his eyelid now.

“Did you get arrested, or..?”

“Yeah. Me  _ and  _ Phil.”

“ _ Oh… _ ” Her eyes widen and she gulps. “How is he doing?” 

His lip immediately trembles. He can’t speak right away, so he just shrugs.

“Fuck, God, are you okay?”

“I’ve never been more weak, it didn’t feel real but I’m—fuck, I don’t feel okay. I feel unstable,” he knows it’s true as he says it and tears come to his eyes.

He begins to cry, a real, genuine cry. It comes up his throat and releases in a loud sob. He shoves his face into his arm and chokes on his phlegm, trying to stop. He puts his head down on the table but the emotions are suddenly overwhelming.

Cornelia rubs his back comfortingly. He hears a gruff voice behind him.

“Can you take the stick out of your ass for once second?” Cornelia says. Dan lifts his wet face up.

“What did you say, woman?”

Dan puts a hand up. “Hey, hey, it’s alright,” he says, his voice whiny and trembling. He shakes his head, pleading. Not now. Cornelia turns her back to the guard.

“Speak to me like that again, see what happens,” the guard shouts. He lingers dauntingly for a moment before he walks off, staring at her with angry eyes.

“Tough guy,” she sneers. Dan cringes and puts a hand on his stomach, suddenly nauseous. Snot falls down to his lip and he smears it on his sleeve. He squeezes his eyes shut, waiting for it to pass.

“You okay?” 

“Anxious,” is all he can whisper. He sniffles.

“I shouldn’t have...I’m sorry. We’re okay, keep breathing.”

He nods and finally takes a shallow breath in. He takes a sip of her water, then tries to wipe away all the mess on his face with any clean spot he can find on his sleeves. It seems like all the snot and tears are endless.

“I’m sorry, we’re okay, I’m sorry,” she says softly. He opens his eyes and she’s leaning close to him with worried eyes. She has more wrinkles than she ever did before. She looks tired. 

“It’s okay,” he whispers and nods.

She shakes her head. “No. I shouldn’t have even…I don’t know why I said that to him.”

  
“It probably felt good to say,” he says.

“It didn’t even feel good. It never does.”

He looks up at her.

“I...I don’t want to sink to that man’s level. I don’t want to be cruel or threatening, not even to them. I always wanted to change the way people fight, to try to bring empathy and understanding and focus on the people being hurt, ignore the ones who don’t deserve my time. I don’t want to be angry, I want to be  _ just _ and hold my head high. I want to question my privileges and keep loving myself. I want to find solidarity and community in the people around me. But still, sometimes, it just seems like it would be easier to get a gun. To just  _ fight _ . It would go against everything I’ve ever stood for.” 

She leans her chin on her hand. Her eyes sparkle with tears, her thin eyebrows furrow, and her face goes red as her hair. She doesn’t wipe away the tears that fall.

Dan struggles to speak at first, to stop staring at her with some mix of sympathy and admiration.

“You  _ are  _ you,” he says, dumbly. “I mean, you’re stronger than you think. You have  _ such  _ a strong will, I never even worried that you would crumble. You should be angry, but keep doing what you’re doing, because you’re doing good.”

She smiles. “It’s endearing when you’re not articulate for once.”

“I’m brain dead, let me be.”

She sighs, shaking her head and finally wiping away the wetness on her cheek. “I don’t want to pretend to be strong anymore. I’m scared and I’m struggling, too. I don’t know why I’m still pretending to be okay.” 

“I’m sorry.”

“Thank you, Dan. I’d hug you but I don’t want to have a brawl today.” 

Dan coughs out a laugh and wipes some snot on his shirt.

“Maybe everything will be over soon and we can begin to heal,” he mutters.

  
“Yeah, Dan. Maybe.”

-

At home again, he searches his apartment for the letter that Phil left, but it’s missing. They must have taken it. He frantically checks under his mattress, and his entire stash is gone, all the letters he received from Phil and the little notes he got from Cornelia. Those were what he read obsessively, the only things keeping him sane. He mourns the words he’ll never get to read again. It feels like a hole in his heart.

It’s when he begins cleaning that he spots a new addition to his room, right above the cabinets. Another camera pointing down at his bed, sticking out of a hastily drilled hole. He feels more watched than he ever has before. He has no privacy, not even a corner of his shit hole room.

  
And will he ever see Phil again? Even a pass in the street? If this strike does nothing, was  _ that _ the last time he will ever see him? If he dies in the strike, or worse, becomes incarcerated forever, then it most definitely will.

The fucking strike. He checks his calendar on his tablet to confirm. It’s only two days away, and Dan is weaker than he’s ever been.

On the tablet, he orders a can of food and two eggs, and his balance dwindles to nothing. If he’s got any luck left, it will come within a couple days.

If his lack of luck continues, he just may dwindle away to nothing.

The only consolation is how fast he can fall asleep curled up in his blanket that he swears smells like Phil.

-

The next day, he is punctual to Phil’s street. There’s never been anything he’s more consistently punctual to than this walk down the pavement. 

He can’t seem to raise his hopes and apparently this time he was right for doing so. Phil’s face does not appear in the crowd and Dan sulks to work.

Tomorrow, everything will change. Maybe. Hopefully. For him, Cornelia, Phil, wherever he is. For everyone else too, Alex, James, Cornelia’s friends, and the asshole Mr. Eyebrows. 

He doesn’t know if he imagines an energy in the air. He doesn’t know if anyone is aware of the strike. He’s failed, too, he hasn’t talked to anyone like he told Cornelia he would. Maybe he has a good excuse, but looking around at everyone, he doubts he would have gotten the confidence to. He really has no friends, no one else he trusts.

It’s a big working building, everyone is right next to each other. Maybe they will notice the lack of attendance, go and join people in the streets.

Cornelia is full of nervous energy, she practically vibrates in her seat. Dan leans on his cheek to just stare at her.

The asshole guard paces behind them so they communicate mostly through their eyes and sly smirks. The odd brush of the foot.

A while before the break ends, Dan heads back to the workroom. James eyes pop open, he sees Dan, then sighs in relief and leans back again.

“You’re always tired, huh.” Dan says.

“I keep getting double shifted,” he grumbles.

“Being here with us is already, like, 9 hours.” 

“Then I get a night shift sometimes.”

“Jesus fuck.”

James nods. “Right?”

“Sounds cold and miserable.”

“It bloody is. It’s—I don’t like it.” James says. “It’s like it never ends. Now they want me to do some rounds on Sundays too.”

“Sunday’s! Not the Lord's day.”

“As if people are a threat right after church. I’m pretty sure people just go home and sleep, that’s what I do. Every single shift I’ve ever had here is boring.” 

Dan hesitates before speaking. “I don’t think I’d want my days as a soldier to be full of events.”

“I mean. I’m not  _ much _ of a fighter. I’m sure I could if I needed to, though.” James shifts on his feet.

“Want to sit for once? I can listen for footsteps.” Dan walks to stand by the door so James knows he’s serious.

James looks out the door, then up at the camera, then back at Dan before he slides down the wall and flops his legs out. He sighs a bit exaggerated and laughs 

“Thanks, mate,” he says. “Ron has a cow if we so much as lean on the tables.”

“Ron? That’s the guy with the eyebrows?”

James chuckles at that. “That’s him. Get this, his name is Ron MacDonald.”

Dan laughs a little too loud, he has to slap a hand over his mouth.

“Me and the boys think he’s so mean because he obviously got bullied for that. We also think he had a particular stake in shutting down the fast food in the area.”

Dan slaps his knee. “It’s probably too triggering to see those characters on the ads.”

“It’s what plagues his nightmares, I’d betcha.”

Dan smiles and shakes his head. Maybe he is kind of sucking up this feeling of being a  _ bro  _ with this young soldier.

His leg shakes when he remembers why he really came back here instead of spending the rest of his time with Cornelia.

“You made good friends with the other soldiers, then, hey? One good thing about this job?” Dan asks.

James shrugs. “Yeah, they’re cool.”

Dan feels his heart speeds up. He needs to just say it.

“You know, it sounds like you guys have pretty shitty work conditions. Tomorrow, there’s a strike going on….”

Dan trails off when James scrambles to his feet.

“ _ What? _ ”

“People are striking for their rights,” Dan says. He clenches his teeth, not liking the look on James’ face.

“That’s, Jesus, it’s not the soldiers' faults that your jobs are shitty.”

“I know it’s not, I was saying, you guys also—”

“We’ll be the ones to get punished, my friends will be the ones getting hurt if things escalate.” James crosses his arms. He looks strong, Dan can see how toned his arms are.

“I know. It’s not fair that the Statesmen hide in their offices while you fight for them,” Dan says, practically pleading. 

James hesitates at that.

Dan continues on. “That’s why I’m suggesting you and your friends lay down your weapons and march for  _ your  _ rights, too. None of you have to get hurt. We can demand for an equal society where—”

“Maybe not everyone’s born equal,” James says. “It’s really just dumb to ever expect such a thing.”

Dan falters. James walks back to where he always stands and leans against the wall, staring into space with a red face.

“You must have been just a teenager, maybe even just a kid, when things started to go to shit, and that’s horrible,” Dan says. “I imagine you were angry, you probably  _ are  _ angry. God, I’ve been fucking angry. But a better life is possible. You can be free for real.”

“I  _ get  _ freedoms, I get to have friends and I might even be promoted to captain. I will get a wife and a nice house,” James says. “It’s not my problem that your life will always be shitty, and I don’t know who you are thinking you can talk to me like this.” 

“There’s nothing about you that makes you the slightest bit above me,” Dan says.

“Not even this?” James pulls out his baton and holds it above his shoulder with a strong grip. 

Dan winces. He stares at him.

James doesn’t hold it right. Even Dan can tell. Really, he looks like an angry kid.

“It’s weak to use violence against people who can’t fight back. It makes you strong to practice empathy in a society that seems so devoid of it,” Dan says, his voice soft.

“You should really keep working when you’ve lost your lunch privileges, you don’t get to just free roam the building,” James says. He leans back, and Dan gets the feeling that he’s done talking.

“Just one thing. Don’t kill anyone tomorrow. You might need to fight, but don’t kill anyone. Stay safe, and stay with your friends.” Dan walks over and grabs his tablet.

He hopes this is the last time he ever sees this goddamn room.

-

He gives Cornelia a big hug and his heart nearly beats out of his chest at the thought of never seeing her anymore. He has just as much nervous excitement at being able to see her all the time.

James doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t even look at them. Dan bows his head at him on his way out.

He and Cornelia walk their separate ways with  _ love you’s _ in their eyes.

Dan walks slow. He stops at the fence where he can see the labour workers past the fence.

Maybe no one will show up and nothing will change. Maybe the only people who do show up will be killed or thrown in jail. Maybe Dan will be part of that, or maybe he will hide in his room and mourn the end of the world again. Only this time, it might be without Phil.

It has to be up to Phil to find Dan, now. 


	13. Cross-Pollination vi.

Dan bolts upright at his watch beeping. It’s the day.

He rolls out of bed and lights up the stove with the only match he has left then dumps his entire can of sliced mushrooms in with a hefty spoonful of butter. He listens to it sizzle and puts his face right above the steam. He lets the mushrooms crisp up just how he likes it and takes a few bites right from the pot. They burn his mouth in the most satisfying way.

He scarfs them down like a maniac. He pours some soy sauce on and revels in the warmth, texture and  _ flavour.  _ He licks the greasy edges of the pot that he can reach with his tongue.

  
What he wouldn’t do for a hot cup of coffee right now. One day.

He peeks out the window, imagining himself as a housewife during the war, watching out for any violence and hiding his sad kids in the living room, hoping no one raids them, subsequently ruining their lives.  _ When will my husband come home from the war,  _ he thinks with dim amusement.

There’s nothing to see. At least not yet, not that he thinks this backstreet will be particularly interesting. It would just be nice to scope out anything before he leaves his apartment blindly.

It’s really telling how the only marches he attended were overzealous  _ parades _ . He marched on behalf of a non-governmental organization with expensive material glued to his t-shirt and a board from Hobbycraft. Supporters watched him on the sidelines with friends and the protesters yelled from behind a row of police. Of course, the police usually faced the parade, misunderstanding who really needed protection from whom.

No matter how much Dan read about Stonewall and Black Power and the assortment of the United State’s counterculture movements, he feels quite in the dark. He has no idea what might happen amidst this restrictive State, when there is no protection whatsoever. He never made it to the more dangerous of the strikes, didn’t particularly feel like he  _ should  _ have shown up either.

Nonetheless, it’s now quite clear that his good-opinion-havingness didn’t do the world much good.

Another thing holds him back from going outside immediately, witnessing possible history in the making. 

If Phil wants to find him and has the opportunity, Phil will come here. There are no other safe places they’re known to meet. Hell, Dan doesn’t even know where Phil lives. This is their only chance to reconnect and Dan doesn’t know if he can force himself to miss the possibility.

He paces in the small living area, spinning on his heel.

If he doesn’t see Phil again, does Dan even have the strength to face danger head-on? Suddenly, he’s a lot more scared of death than he ever imagined he would be. He wants a long happy life with Phil. He wants Phil to have that long happy life with Dan. They were supposed to do it together. It was almost assumed that once one of them died, the other wouldn’t be far behind. Heartbreak stifles the soul too much. They’re not meant to be without each other, that’s a given by now. Is that so bad?

He cleans the pot and tidies the few belongings he actually owns. He wipes the grime down the sink and washes off the hair sticking to the sides.

It’s just about the size of his childhood bedroom, or that’s how it looks with so much crammed into it. He always thought he didn’t need much space to live, and that’s true, but the darkness, the dirt and the worn furniture has really gotten to him. The worst part is that he feels so alone in here. Not the good kind of alone, but soul-sucking loneliness.

It’s consoled only slightly by staying here today at his own free will to watch the sky shine brighter outside.

He thinks the hugs he’s gotten in the past few days have fuelled him. It’s just not quite enough.

After a little while, he curiously taps to turn on the tablet. His sad reflection disappears and there opens the bright screen that reminds him of days before, when the world was at his fingertips. He opens up the news.

The economy is thriving, the London Stock Exchange is still growing, scientists say carbon levels have fallen. Then, there it is,  _ the _ news.

The title is subtle but Dan catches something off about it immediately.  _ The War Trudges on, This Time Close to Home. _

He can barely believe it. It might be nothing, or it might not have been Phil.

He clicks on it.  _ Soldiers continue to take to the streets against the most dangerous of powers. Today is not the day to go to work, but for citizens themselves to fight for true happiness, liberty…. _

The app crashes, back to the home page. Dan quickly clicks on the news app again, watching it slowly load, and the article is gone. 

It doesn’t do much to drop Dan’s spirits, he’s seen some real resistance now and it feels like a fucking miracle. He doesn’t want to hope that it was Phil, anyone could have done that, and yet….

He sits and his bed and smiles. Even if all else is lost, at least he has hope. More hope than he had as an 18-year-old, and more hope than any of the vile men currently running the government.

The door opens and hits the wall with a bang, Dan feels his heart lurch so hard he flings back against the wall.

“Jesus fucking  _ fuck  _ my ass fuck—Phil!” He holds his hand to his heart, feeling like this just might be the day he has a stroke.

“Oh, thank God you’re here!” Phil leaves the door open and runs forward, jumping as he hugs Dan so they collapse fall to the floor almost instantly. Dan hits his spine against the table leg painfully but he doesn’t quite have the heart, or the strength, to push Phil away. 

“Oh,  _ fuck _ , you came!” Dan says.

Phil finally sits back and grabs Dan’s hands to bring them to his face, pressing his lips to them and staring at Dan with sparkling eyes.

Dan pulls away one of his hands and brings it to Phil’s face. He can feel his own eyes wide and bulging but he can’t help it right now. He runs a thumb over the cheekbone that protrudes more than it ever has over sunken cheeks. He runs his fingers up to below the particularly sallow, dark eyebags. Phil’s hairline is pushed back and he looks older, almost skeletal, weak. His arms are so skinny that his shoulders appear to protrude out unnaturally.

Phil pouts at Dan. “You were starved,” he whispers, giving Dan a look up and down.

“Touché,” Dan says with a weak smile. He scrambles to his feet and runs to close the door.  _ Let me have this moment, world,  _ he thinks.

Phil stands and meets him halfway in a much gentler hug, pressing their bodies together. Dan breathes in like he hasn’t tasted air in weeks. His eyes pop open when he notices something hard bulging out of Phil’s crotch.

Dan freezes, then laughs awkwardly. 

“You’re, uh, happy to see me?” Dan asks.

Phil laughs and pulls back enough to shove his hands down the front of his pants. He pulls out a package wrapped messily with a paper towel. He sets it on the tiny desk so it spreads open to show a couple of scones, a big sausage, and some kind of pie that’s crushed and flaking. Two tea bags sit on top.

Dan laughs heartily. “That’s so fucking British, what the fuck.”

“We don’t have to make the tea, just if you wanted….”

“I have no more matches, maybe I can just suck on it?”

Phil laughs, “Gross! But please, you need protein and calories after that, have it all.”

“Even though your crotch snacks look, great, I’m just not hungry.” Dan shakes his head. 

“You need more, it’s been months of inadequate nutrition.”

“Phil, I ate earlier and I don’t have the appetite.” He grabs his hands. “I will eat it, we will share it, we both need it, but not yet. Let’s relax for a minute.”

He pulls him to the bed and Phil nods.

Phil begins rambling. “I feel like, I almost know what it feels like to have a child and just spend all my time worrying, thinking about their health and wanting to know they’re okay and—” 

“Phil, are you comparing me to being your child? ‘Cause that’s really fucking weird.”

“Okay, not the best analogy,” Phil laughs. “You know what I mean, it’s torture to not know how you are, if you were in an even worse place, if you were  _ still  _ there,” he frowns, tears in his eyes.

“Shh, no crying now, we’re both okay, yeah? You’re okay?” Dan asks, putting his hands back on Phil’s cheek. Phil’s cold, thin and bony cheeks. 

Phil nods. “Yeah, I am.”

“Good,” Dan nods. “We’re okay, and we’re together.”

“And here we stay,” Phil looks at him hopefully.

Dan sighs. “We’ll stay,” he agrees.

“And pig out,” Phil smiles, his voice cracking just slightly. Dan can still see the worry behind his eyes.

“And Phil, I felt the same about you. God, I’ve been a mess, I—I’m just so happy that you came.” He pulls in Phil’s shoulders for another warm hug, and hooks his chin over Phil’s shoulder, squeezing his eyes shut.

“I’m glad you were  _ here, _ I practically ran over. I was scared so I went a long way but I still saw people outside.” He pulls back, beginning to gesticulate. “Like, I was about to go down this alley and I saw this group of men there. I heard some yelling. Like, I definitely heard things in the distance. I saw people speed walking, and this is  _ after _ work begins everywhere, so I don’t know if it’s normal, and I only saw a couple of guards in my area. It was...weird.”

“I think it’s really going to happen,” Dan says. “I have that feeling.”

“I think you’re right, Dan.”

“Hey!” Dan says, tapping Phil’s knee excitedly. “There was an article. Did you…” 

His eyes widen. “An article about..?”

“The march today.”

“No way, you’re sure?” Phil’s mouth drops open. 

“Yeah, but you didn’t do that?” Dan tilts his head.

“Well, okay, first I was demoted when I got back to work, down to being the messenger boy, like, I just pass around the slips of what to write because they don’t email them incase it gets intercepted, then I get the high ups coffee...though I might have stolen a bit myself, then just wiped the mug super well.”

“Uh-huh,” Dan urges him on, nodding.

“Anyway, on the Monday, I was so hungry and weak and I went to the food place but I was turned away because my status dropped. I was asking where I go, and either the food lady just didn’t know, or I just got lost, but I walked by the room where the higher executives print off the news that we write out and there was no guard there, except for a guy who walks all the way around the floor, but all the guards just stay by the executives or walk through the dining hall and some linger by the  _ publishing  _ place, but not the  _ printing  _ place. But I kept walking, found the cafeteria thing, and only then did I realize any of that.”

“Phil, you’re killing me, this story is taking for-fucking-ever,” Dan laughs.

“Sorry, sorry. So Tuesday I went there on my break, but the computers weren’t logged in. I grabbed some of that printer paper that have logos on them. At home, I wrote out a note, forged the signature that I always saw, and today I switched the actual one for this one. I tried to make it sound real and vague, but it was about the strike and I didn’t think the worker would ever write it. I wanted to try though, so I even hid in the bathroom and copied over the guys long-ass assignment who works across the cubicle so it wouldn’t be suspicious. I showed up to my old office and told the guys that the printers ink just ran out and we won’t be getting any until shipment tomorrow, but these are the assignments, then I gave it and left the building immediately, through a backdoor that I was so scared would have an alarm!”

Dan smiles widely at Phil, shaking his head in disbelief.

“God, I got lucky. He _must_ have known and still sent it in...I can’t believe it got through, is it still up?”

“Taken down at 9:00 or so,” Dan says.

“Oh. It was only up for a few minutes before they caught it then, there probably weren't many people who even got to read it,” Phil frowns.

“Phil,” Dan shakes his head. “I’m proud of you.”

He kisses him, hard and messy but he falters when Phil doesn’t reciprocate and pulls back with a fretful look on his face.

“What is it?” Dan asks. Phil shakes his head, but his expression is one of terror.

“You’re safe here, okay? Nothing bad will happen,” Dan says.

Phil’s hands begin to visibly tremble. “Something already did, Dan, to both of us.” He says.

Dan feels a lump in his throat that he swallows back. “Nothing more, though.”

Phil shakes his head again and his face goes red, “Because we broke the law. And I did again.”

“Breathe, Phil.”

“I haven’t felt safe for a long time but now…” he croaks.

  
“Phil, you need to breathe, let it out.”

Phil blows out air but his entire body begins to tremble and he gasps back in rapidly, tears coming to his eyes.

“Shh, it’ll pass,” Dan says, hearing a tremble in his own voice. “Breathe it out again, there.”

Tears run down Phil’s cheeks while he struggles to breathe, and Dan sees his own eyesight go blurry. He holds his arms out but Phil doesn’t move in for a hug, he just sits trembling, close to hyperventilation.

“Do you want to put your head between your knees? Lay back? Lay in my lap? Walk?” But Phil shakes his head repeatedly.

“Is it okay if I keep talking?” Dan asks, and Phil finally nods.

“Okay. Okay, well, just remember that you’re here, we are together, and no one is going to come here when people are gathering on the streets, right? And we’ll hide here forever if we need. I’m not going to leave you, and you’re not going to leave me, not again, and it’s okay, okay?”

Phil hugs his own chest. “I hate this feeling. I hate it, I’m so scared, I don’t want to think about any of this anymore, I want it to be over,” he cries.

“I’ll tell you a story, how about? My cellmate, Alex, he was lovely. We didn’t talk too much, we didn’t have the energy, but it was really nice to meet someone there. He’s a really smart guy, I could tell, he knew about the international politics, and he managed to hack the tablets, isn’t that awesome?”

Phil stares blankly at him, visibly shaking.

“Anyways, I realized they break us down with  _ loneliness _ , but when we find solidarity then we are strong and good, and I survived because of it. We hugged goodbye at the end, and when I saw Cornelia she gave me a big hug, you know she does good hugs, and it’s keeping me going, having these connections, having this affection, and now with you. I don’t feel numb much anymore, I feel hopeful and full of love because we’re together,” Dan says.

Phil’s breathing is loud but closer to a normal tempo. He clears his throat so Dan waits a moment.

“I was alone in the prison, I didn’t have a cellmate,” he finally says.

Dan’s face falls. He can’t help it, he puts a hand to his mouth to attempt to muffle the sob that he can’t stop. Phil wrestles his arms off his face and holds his hands. Dan squeezes, hard.

“I feel like I’m broken forever,” Phil says quietly. “Is that me overreacting?”

Dan lifts his head again and sniffs back. He shakes his head.

His voice comes out in a whine. “No Phil, it—it’s traumatic, but not  _ broken _ , we’ll work through it.”

“I don’t know if there’s any time to work through it, this feels like our last day.”

“You’re panicking, Phil. It’s normal, but this is your anxiety talking,” he says.

“I want you to hold me, now,” Phil says. It could be comical with the tear streaks down his face, if Phil were still panicking about losing hair or investing sustainably. Right now, it’s far too real and it hurts Dan like a real wound. Dan quickly shuffles back to lean against the wall and Phil follows to lay against him.

He wraps tight enough to stop Phil’s entire body from trembling, and eventually, Phil appears calmer, at least on the outside.

“Talk to me about it,” Dan says into his ear. He tries to push away the thought that he doesn’t want to know, doesn’t want to hear about the horrible loneliness that Phil must have had.

“Not right now. I wanna rest, just for a minute.”

Dan stays still, counting the seconds in his head and breathing in Phil’s scent to calm himself. At nearly a minute, Phil begins to snore.

It seems like he will be staying right here in this position for a while.

-

He tries to imagine what might be happening out on the streets. Maybe everything, maybe nothing. Maybe people are at work. Just maybe, soldiers will come for them again. He holds Phil tighter.

Dan can barely fathom that he’s the optimistic, calm one right now. Him and Phil appear to have changed positions. He had a good feeling about today, and he thinks it goes further than having Phil in his arms. His intuition might be bullshit but a boy can dream.

He glances over at the sausage on the table and feels his appetite return more. He kisses the side of Phil’s face until he stirs.

“How ‘bout some afternoon sausage?” Dan whispers. He smiles at the breathy laugh he receives. It’s a small win but it’s something.

Phil shuffles forward and unceremoniously grabs it with his hand, without even a dick joke to follow. He breaks off a little piece and gives Dan the larger whole. 

“No, Phil, split it even.”

“No.” He sounds defiant. “I’ll feel better when you have some variety in your diet.”

Dan doesn’t have it in him to fight that. He bites into it with his back teeth, revelling at the texture, flavour, everything, as though it’s filling him up with energy for the first time in months.

“Mm,” he takes an overdramatic bite but Phil doesn’t react.

He goes back to being serious. This humour coverup isn’t working for either of them today. He begins to ramble, instead.

“I’m sorry that it had to happen. I’m not going to say that I regret bringing you back here all those times, because I never will, but I’m sorry that it had to end up like that. It’s something I don’t know if I will ever heal from, either, and it felt otherworldly. In a bad way, in the sense that I felt like I lost myself. I can’t imagine how you feel,” he says.

Phil grabs his hand. “Dan. Don’t ever think that I blame you. Or resent you, or anything.”

His eyebags are so dark, his wrinkles deep. Dan used to try and imagine Phil older, amidst his other dreams of a house and a dog, getting off on that masculine, salt and pepper mature look. Phil doesn’t look bad, necessarily. He just looks hurt and exhausted. Dan wants to see him glowing again.

He imagines he’s not looking too good right now, either. He should have scrubbed his armpits a bit more. 

“I just need you to know that it never should have happened and I won’t let it happen again,” Dan says.

Phil chews his food slowly. Dan tilts his head to try and meet his eyes but Phil won’t budge until he finally swallows and looks up.

“I don’t want you to make promises, it’s not like we have many rights right now, and we’re being illegal,” he says.

“In the eyes of wrongful laws.”

“Still. It’s just not comforting right now.”

Dan nods. “I get that. I always wanted the truth, not fake comfort.”

“Yeah.”

“But it’s important to have hope and optimism.” He adds on, smacking Phil’s knee. “Look at ol’ Danny, this is some character progression.”

Phil cracks a smile. He pushes his hair back. Dan can see a tint of orange in the light from the window, faded with gray hairs.

“I think I was able to do that thing at work because I was so angry and...like, driven. I felt like I’d gone a bit crazy, had no limits and no fears, just for the moment. I freaking scammed The Sun, didn’t I?”

Dan shakes with silent laughter and shakes his head endearingly. “That you fucking did, what the hell.”

“Look at me, AmazingPhil’s a bit of a hustler I’d say.” He smiles genuinely for the first time this afternoon full of amusement.

“Ugh, AmazingPhil is a bag of cringe.” 

“You  _ love  _ me.”

“Maybe so.”

“But you hate me more, is that it?” He bites his tongue between his teeth. Dan swears he does it just to bother Dan now.

“Definitely a ratio of 69% love, 31% hatred,” he says.

“Look at you, sexy mathematician.”

Dan smiles so hard his face muscles ache, but he’s just so delighted to have this happy-go-lucky version of Phil back, even just for a moment.

“Let’s have some scones, we gotta gain back more of our whale fat,” Phil says

“Our whale blubber.”

Phil echoes him with “whale flubber” and reaches for the dry scones.

“Your sc-ohn,” Phil says, exaggerating his accent. He and Dan both take a big bite and crumbs fall on their laps.

“I think I needed a bit of food and a bit of rest,” he swallows back his bite. “And a little bit of Dan-time. I’m feeling a bit more like myself. At least I can joke despite how shit I feel.”

“What better way is there to get through trauma than turning everything into a joke about your sad life?”

“You really think I have trauma?” Phil asks.

Dan shrugs but says, “Yeah.”

Phil nods. “Well, I’ve seen you be strong through it.”

Dan smiles into his lap. He shoves the rest of the scone into his mouth.

“It was easier to be optimistic when I had some fallback options. I always knew Mum would be there for me,” Phil says.

“She’s out there.”

“Do you think she’s still in that bakery from the early placement?”

Dan shrugs. “Would Kath really fight the system?”

“It’s possible.”

Dan raises his eyebrows and purses his lips, nodding. Who knows what she might do after being separated from family.

“What would it even be like after?” Phil asks.

“I don’t know.” Dan shrugs.

“How are you so chill about this?” Phil asks.

“I’m already living my nightmare of having no freedom to pursue indulgence and happiness and art and I’m subsequently unable to live an authentic life. Any other ending would be better than this, for me.” He gives a small smile.

Phil picks up Dan’s hand and knocks Dan’s knuckle against the wall three times.

Dan rolls his eyes. “Phil, these are brick walls.”

“Knock on the desk then,” Phil says. Dan appeases with another eye roll and knocks three small raps on the corner he can reach. He looks at Phil expectantly for a real response.

Phil sighs. “You would choose death over this life.” 

It’s not a question, but Dan whispers, “Yes.”

“You don’t think you would carry on like how we are?” Phil asks.

“I don’t know, I think soon enough we’ll be torn apart for good and begin to feel some serious health effects from these conditions. So, it almost feels like...might as well risk it all, right?” 

Phil stares at him helplessly. 

“I’m sorry. I suppose that’s not so much hope as it is liberating nihilism. But I do have hope in social movements, you know I always did.” Dan grabs Phil’s hands, holds his cold fingers in his palms.

Phil keeps staring at him for a few moments so Dan waits, massages his fingers and gives him time to think.

Eventually, he hums and Dan looks up at him.

“I always thought I would be okay with you safe and healthy somewhere, but those things depend on your mental state and your situation and I think maybe I’d rather you happy. And you need more, so...I guess I agree.” Phil says.

Dan smiles at him.

Phil’s voice falls nearly to a whisper. “It was easier to value our lives and health before, even when it was fucking hard, because at least we could be happy together, alone in our apartments finding little pockets of things that made us happy.” 

“Yeah. Definitely.”

“You feel guilty here, hiding, instead of being out doing something,” Phil says.

Dan half shrugs. “Yeah. But I told you I would stay.”

Phil nods in understanding.

“I’ve been feeling trapped, and like I want to do something about it,” Dan adds on. “You know me,” he says quickly.

Phil nods. “I always wanted a simpler life but...less simple than...this.”

Dan is thinking about how to respond when Phil groans and puts his head right into Dan’s lap.

“You alright?” He asks.

Phil whips his head back up. He ungracefully shifts up onto his knees and walks forward on them until he’s in Dan’s lap. Dan tilts his head up high to face him and is immediately met by Phil’s hands holding his cheeks and lips on his.

Phil snakes his hands from his cheeks and around his neck, pulling them close and sitting down so they’re almost the same height. Dan pulls him in tight by his midsection, squeezing until Phil makes a  _ hmph  _ sound. They barely move their lips, just pressing together as much as possible.

Phil moves back with a pop of their lips coming apart and stares at Dan nose-to-nose.

“I think I’ve gone fucking crazy,” Phil says.

“Crazy’s okay.”

“I think we should leave the apartment,” Phil says. “I’ve said it, I can’t take it back.” He adds on, seemingly to himself.

“Really?” Dan’s mouth begins to spread into a smile, but his smile falters when he thinks about what might consist of that big  _ unknown.  _ He hasn’t actually become emotionally prepared to face this head-on, he’s not sure it’s even possible.

“If you’re next to me. Yeah.” Phil nods. “We can’t just sit here.”

Dan nods in agreement. “We’re not going to fight.”

“No.”

“We’ll add to the numbers.”

“Yeah.”

“Other people are more unsafe there. We can help.”

Phil looks rather terrified, biting his lip. Dan puts his hands up on the back of his neck.

“Kiss me first?” Dan asks.   
  
“Uh-huh.” Phil leans in again and kisses him with full confidence. 

They kiss and kiss, and when Dan puts his hands up to Phil’s cheeks, he finds wetness. He hugs Phil extra hard without breaking the kiss. 

When they break apart, Phil pulls Dan down into a laying position and wraps his limbs around him in a tight hug. 

“I need more safe, loving Dan-time first,” he murmurs.

Dan nods. “I love you.”

“I know. I love you, too.”   
  
“I know. I’m forever grateful to have met you and have you show me that I had so much more worth than I thought and that I just have so much to live for and discover, that I didn’t have to live life like I was walking through a black cave—” He stops when he hears Phil sniffle.

Phil smacks him lightly. “You’ve made me into a bloody mess!” He whines.

Dan hugs him tight. “Just another thing I love about you. Being able to be emotional together and feel safe in my feelings.”

“Such a sap.” Phil pouts.

  
“Sappy, sappy, sap, ask me if I give a fuck,” he says in a sing-song voice that makes Phil laugh. He squeezes Phil and shakes back and forth.

“On second thought I’d love to stay here and listen to you be sweet to me,” Phil says. At that, Dan pushes up on one elbow and looks down upon him.

“If we go, we do it for us,” Dan says.

Phil sits up.

“We go, then. Don’t leave my side, not even an inch away.” Phil says. 

Dan grabs the little meat pie first and they each take a few bites and pick the crumbs up off their pants. He grabs the tablet and leans against Phil’s shoulder while he clicks onto the news.

The news won’t load, a spinning symbol appears in the centre and that is all. The shop doesn’t work, either. He smiles.

They drink some water from the tap and take a piss in turns. Phil walks back over and they hug in the middle of the room.

Dan is just pulling back when Phil says “Wait.”

He looks into Phil’s eyes and Phil begins humming. It’s one long note, clearly off-key as his voice cracks over the different tones. Nonetheless, Dan’s mouth spreads into a smile.

Phil cuts off. “Oh, also.” He puts his pointer finger up. Dan waits, staring fondly ahead. Phil stares at the ceiling and bops his head, mouthing words. He smiles again and clears his throat.

“Spread! Our co-odes to the stars!” He sings, deep and opera-like in a strange falsetto. Dan puts a hand on his own cheek as he watches “You must rescue us all!”

He giggles and Dan steps forward, hugging his waist as Phil hums on, bopping his head to invisible music.

“That was my favourite part. Aside from the melody of Overture. Do you remember it when I hum it?” He begins to hum again, but this time louder and sillier in an “ _ ahh ahhh ahhhh… _ ”

Dan nods and hugs him tighter until Phil grunts. Dan sways them both, just for a minute.

When Dan pulls away, he gives Phil a look and Phil nods in return. They share a kiss and breathe in silence for just a moment. They slowly walk out of the room, trembling hand in trembling hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [tumblr link!](https://det395.tumblr.com/post/188815982992/spread-our-codes-to-the-stars-part-23)  
Thank you for reading this far <3


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